Bloodstained
by Spirit the Fire Dragon
Summary: When Demise was defeated, Ghirahim felt relief and then fear. For what would happen to him after his hated Master fell? Would he be mercifully killed...or forced to live as uselessly as before? The Hero's sword, however, has another idea... /in the process of being rewritten/
1. Chapter 1

When Demise was defeated, Ghirahim initially felt relief.

He had forgotten, over the millennia that he had waited and felt so _lost_, how cruel Demise truly was. The longer he had been away from that bastard, the longer he felt the horrible loneliness and useless eat him alive, the more and more he wished for his psychotic master back.

But when he had returned he didn't spare a word for Ghirahim. Not. A. Single. Word. Not a "Thank you, Ghirahim," not a, "Come to me, my pet, and let us fight this child together," not even a sharp, condescending, "Why did it take you so long, you worthless toothpick?"

Ghirahim had been reminded how much he _despised_ his Master.

He had found himself, while in his sword form, wishing that the child that had defeated him over and over could somehow, someway, defeat the undefeatable, too. Ghirahim even prayed, once, a single plea to anyone that was listening that his Master would just _die._

His prayer was answered, at least for a little bit.

Demise had been defeated! Oh, the joy and relief he felt as his Master was stabbed through his chest and was forced to his knobby, scaly knees! But then there was fear, a single thorn in his black heart, that Demise would shatter him, would rip him from his sword and cast him off like a worthless piece of trash once more.

He had done it before.

Ghirahim watched with trepidation as Demise made his oath that he would return, centuries from now, and return to destroy both Link and the world. He saw the child—the Hero—remain strong, never faltering, as Demise was forced to wheezing breathes and a trembling grip.

Ghirahim felt his chance, saw his opportunity, and pulled his consciousness away from the sword, and snapped the thread connecting him to that awful blade. Demise must have felt it too, because he growled and tried to shoot a ball of magic towards him to kill him.

The sword spirit's glowing purple and red aura dodged the hastily made orb and winked out of vision. Some distance away, a small splash was heard as Ghirahim's body materialized and landed in the cool water.

Demise was encased in the Master Sword, and Ghirahim, from where he lay in the shallow water in his humanoid form, smiled into the reflective water. His chest was aching, from both the weeping wound and the aching loneliness, his eyes felt heavy and his entire body felt tense, scratched. But that didn't stop him from smiling, from letting out a small, delighted laugh.

He felt more than saw Link and the Master Sword spirit approach him. He didn't move, he didn't have to. He didn't _want _to. Ghirahim closed his eyes and smiled again, the bloodstained lips pulling taught across his teeth.

A boot nudged into his rips, almost tentatively, and Ghirahim couldn't help but laugh at the gesture. The foot was rapidly withdrawn and he could hear a sword being drawn. Ghirahim giggled at the sound and didn't try to turn his head. It took too much effort.

"Go ahead," he whispered. "Kill me, Hero. You've freed me."

There was silence. Ghirahim cracked open an eye when nothing happened. "Didn't you hear me? I said kill me. Are you deaf?"

"I'm not deaf," the child—the Hero—said quietly. "I'm thinking."

"A dangerous pastime," Ghirahim said, not even bothering to keep his voice down. "Stop it and just kill me already!"

"Why?" The question was innocent enough. An innocent question falling from innocent lips.

"I am nothing without a Master," Ghirahim said bluntly, finding the strength somewhere inside of him to pick up his head and turn it towards the Hero. His green tunic was torn, his hair golden blonde mussed up and Master Sword pointed down, towards the left side of his boot. He was watching Ghirahim with an expression of apprehension, confusion, and a bit of pity.

"I am a useless trinket without him," he continued. "Demise is dead. I will be of no use to him when he returns. I am nothing. Save me the theatrics, Hero, and just kill me already."

The Hero tilted his head to the side, like a curious animal. "No," he said with an air of finality.

Ghirahim started and looked up at him, his hands involuntarily clenching with anger. "Why not? Oh, is death too easy a punishment for me? Must I spend the rest of my days in this torturous, lonely, useless life as penance for the deeds done against the Goddess's Chosen Hero?"

The Hero looked uncomfortable. "I won't kill you. Not when you're lying down, defenseless. No, that's cold-blooded murder."

Ghirahim sneered but hadn't the strength to do much more. "And killing me in a fight won't be?"  
>"I only kill when necessary," the Hero said shortly as he sheathed his sword in the sheath across his back.<p>

Ghirahim sighed, slumping back and watched the ripples his breath made in the water. "Leave me, then, you useless mortal."

There was the sound of tinkling bells and the sword spirit of the Master Sword flipped out of the pommel and hovered near her kind, victorious Master. "Master," she said in a monotone. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Of course, Fi," the Hero said pleasantly.

"Thank you, Master," Fi said before she continued. "There is a 97% possibility that when we must part as companions, you will be in need of a sword that is not made of Skyloftian steel. Ghirahim's blade was crafted similar to the Master Sword's. I suggest that, if Ghirahim is willing—which is an 84% chance—you wield his purified blade after you part with the Master Sword."

The Hero blinked in what seemed like shock and Ghirahim even started at the suggestion. He tried to force himself up, to strangle that confounded Holy Spirit for analyzing his wandering thoughts, but his arms were too weak and pain shot up through the wound in his chest and along every nerve in his body. He cried out, admonishing himself for the sign of weakness, and fell back to the ground, his chest flaring with agonizing pain.

The Hero seemed to react without thinking and he took several steps forward as if to help him. Ghirahim's glare and hiss stopped him, but a pretty shade of red colored the Hero's cheeks and the tips of his two pointed ears.

Fi continued as if nothing had happened. "Though considering the past malice shared between the two of you, I conclude that past events can be forgotten if the reasoning behind Ghirahim's actions were revealed. I believe this to be the safest course of action following Demise's downfall, excluding Ghirahim's death."

The Hero bit his bottom lip and looked at the almost pitiful Ghirahim as he breathed harshly and glared at both of them. Link cocked his head to the side, that confounded puppy dog eyed expression falling over his features effortlessly, and he took a few steps forward to ask, "Did he always treat you like that?"

Ghirahim blinked. He hadn't been expecting that one. "Yes," he said shortly.

Another tilt of his head. Another question. "Did you…like it?"

Ghirahim scoffed and spoke without thinking. "Did you enjoy the way I toyed with you?"

The Hero smiled a bit, as if an important question had just been answered favorably. "You did invade my personal space," he laughed a bit as he took another tentative step forward. "A lot."

Ghirahim almost said, "Demise did much more than that to me," but he stopped the words just in time. He glared instead.

Link chewed his bottom lip. "You did what you did to Zelda because you wanted to revive him, but you didn't like the way he treated you…why did you do it, then?"

"I was alone and useless," Ghirahim snapped, reaching his breaking point. He was getting annoyed with the Hero's pointless questions. "I missed my only Master, alright? It was my only chance to be _something_ again."

That seemed to do it for the hero. Ghirahim started as a partially gloved hand was extended down towards him. He followed the arm up to the Hero's face. He looked questioningly at him, scowling too.

"What?"

"Come on," the Hero said. "We need to get back to the temple. We can talk back there, okay?"

Ghirahim scowled—he was doing that a lot, wasn't he?—and clenched his hands. He refused to immediately grab the olive branch that was dangling right before his eyes. "Why should I? We're _enemies."_

"Were," the Hero corrected. "_Were_ enemies. Everyone deserves a second chance."

Ghirahim blinked up at the hero, felt the ache in his chest, collected the shattered remains of his pride and glory before he painstakingly reached put his hand and grasped the Hero's forearm. Better to have a Master—even a former enemy and nuisance—than to be useless and alone.

Fi seemed to smile before flipping back into her blade as her Master helped Ghirahim to his feet and they started towards the white glowing portal that had appeared after Demise's defeat.

"I won't call you Master," Ghirahim said irritably as they approached the portal.

The Hero laughed. "I wouldn't expect you to," he said warmly, hooking Ghirahim's slender arm over his shoulders. "I hear it enough already. I think I'd prefer Sky Child to Master."

Ghirahim smirked. "Good," he said.

The portal closed in around them, engulfed them, and swallowed them whole.

**I have nothing much to say about this besides I literally sat down and started to write without any kind of plan. This is the product of too much Ghiralink fanfiction and boredom. :) **

** I wanted to leave my mark in this fandom…after all; I don't think I've ever loved a villain as much as I've loved Ghirahim. I have no idea why, but the moment I saw him invade Link's personal space was the moment I fell in love. **

** ANYWAYS, I have slight plans to continue this. Perhaps. I have no definite plan—I didn't have one starting this!—but I have a few musings that I might put into action. Tell me if I made any mistakes, I only reread this a couple of times after finishing it. Review if you like, they're very greatly appreciated and any criticism is welcomed. **

** I'm not sure if this will, in fact, turn into a Ghiralink or anything of the sort—though I will assure you, it won't be Zelda x Link, I just dislike Zelda for some reason—but for now everyone's remaining asexual. –pokerface-**

** Thanks for reading, lovies! 3 Much love!**

** -Spirit-**


	2. Chapter 2

**I forgot to mention this in the last chapter or in the summary, but this story **_**does contain major spoilers. **_**If you haven't finished the game, don't read this until you do! If you don't care or **_**have**_** finished the game, continue!**

**Also, I'm not exactly sure whether or not this can be considered AU or not, but it is the aftermath of Demise's defeat with the Fabulous Debbie still hanging around. So it is different that how Nintendo intended it, but call it whatever you like. And thank you to those who reviewed! My love goes to you. Anyways, onward! -S**

* * *

><p>The light blinded Ghirahim as they stepped into the portal, and it remained a painful bleached white for several seconds. When the light faded away, the Hero and Ghirahim were left staggering in front of the former castle-turned-temple.<p>

Ghirahim's knees buckled under the strain of teleportation and the Hero had to grip his wrist and his hip to keep from crumpling to the ground. Ghirahim hissed, in both pain and anger, and tried to pull away from the Hero.

"I can walk fine on my own," Ghirahim snapped, trying to withdraw his arm.

The Hero looked at him and Ghirahim knew he hadn't bought a word he had said. Ghirahim scowled.

"Sure thing," the Hero said dubiously. He didn't let the taller demon lord have his arm—or hip—back.

Ghirahim grumbled as the Hero led him towards the doors in front of them. When they entered and the doors swung shut behind them, Ghirahim was faced with a strange kind of sight: the Goddess reincarnate was sitting on the ground, holding the side of her head, while the other male Skyloftian—the one with the _ridiculous_ hairdo—was crouched next to her, obviously supporting her if she should fall.

Ghirahim felt sick at the sight of horrid concern, and then felt doubly sick when he realized he had been no better. He frowned dangerously and felt his insides churn with the stirring rage. WHY couldn't have the Hero just _killed him?_

The Goddess's dog—the one the Spirit Maiden had called Impa, what a ghastly name—was standing protectively over them, and her glare was centered on the wounded demon lord. Ghirahim glared right back, not intimidated in the slightest.

The girl looked up and gasped at the sight of him, and Ghirahim felt a little better. At least he could still inspire fear into _someone. _The pompadour rose as the other boy looked up too and stood up with what looked like blinding rage.

He pointed at Ghirahim, taking a defense stance all the while, and yelled, "WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?"

The Hero sighed and slowly led Ghirahim to the steps that led to the circle where the other three were. He helped Ghirahim sit on the edge of the circular platform, and turned to face the others. "I'm helping him," he said flatly. Ghirahim scowled. _He, _the fabulous Demon Lord Ghirahim, did not _need help. _He was allowing the Hero to cater to him. Nothing more.

The red-haired boy shouted right back, "DON'T YOU REMEMBER WHAT HE DID TO ZELDA? HE'S GOING TO ATTACK US, LINK! _KILL HIM OR SOMETHING!"_

"Believe me," Ghirahim cut in, turned to look at the other with a dark look. His beautiful hair was tangled, soggy and messy and it didn't fall over his eyes correctly. Ghirahim imagined that it gave him a slightly crazed—or _pitiful—_look. "I told him much the same, but did he listen? Of course not. You ought to train your pets better, Hylia. He's very disobedient." He turned to look at the Spirit Maiden when he said that.

The Hero scowled and the other boy looked outraged and rather thrown off from his response. Hylia—the girl, Spirit Maiden, ugh, what to call her?—looked at him, like she was unsure whether to be offended by the remark or laugh.

The Goddess's dog spoke first. "What is he doing here, Link?" she had a better mask of calm and control, but Ghirahim could see she was just _dying_ to wrap her hands around his throat. "What possessed you to bring him here?"

Link folded his arms while he stood firm at Ghirahim's side. He had made his decision, and he couldn't very well not stand by it now and go dump Ghirahim back in the battleground, now could he? "His wounds need to be tended to," he said. "Ghirahim no longer serves Demise. He won't," he added while looking at Ghirahim in the eye, "raise his hand or magic against any of us."

He turned back to the others. "I wasn't going to leave him for dead, guys! You can't expect me to just leave someone when they can be saved." He bent down to put Ghirahim's arm around his shoulders again to haul him up. "There's been too much death as there is."

That quieted the dog down. But the other boy was not satisfied. "What, so just because you say he's not going to attack, he's not? Is he your slave or something? Link, seriously, we can't do this! Remember what he did to Zelda?"

The Hero, to his credit, didn't let his features show how close to the truth Groose had struck. Neither did Ghirahim, but he felt annoyed that that was partly the reason. Almost, reason, anyhow. He _was_ going to become the Hero's slave, soon. And if he fought, he had no doubts that the Hero or the other boy would hesitate to thrust a sword through his gut.

"No, Groose," he said sarcastically. "Remind me again, why don't you? Seeing as I lived through it once already."

Groose blinked. He wasn't used to this level of chatter or sarcasm from the other boy. It was all rather strange. Groose managed, "You're going to keep him then? Just like that? Because he has a wound and makes some flimsy promises?"

"I did promise you I wouldn't murder you outright," Ghirahim finally butted in, talking to Link as he was led up to where the three were standing, towards the girl he had striven towards so desperately before.

The Hero barked out a laugh. "You did keep that promise," he agreed without looking at the flabbergasted Groose. He helped Ghirahim sit near the girl and the Goddess's dog.

Link looked at Zelda and murmured, "Help him?"

The girl's features, which had been apprehensive at best, softened at the words and she nodded quietly. The other boy behind them squawked indignantly, but couldn't stop the Spirit Maiden from standing, very slowly, and asking the seated demon lord, "Can you lay down, Ghirahim?"

Ghirahim blinked, not expecting such tenderness. He had known pain, yes, and force and harsh words, but never tenderness. In truth, he had expected anger—much like the red haired Skyloftian's reaction—and hatred, then maybe a merciful blade to his wound, but not tenderness. He blinked his slightly wide eyes and nodded, before swiveling to the side and slowly, painfully, lying on his back.

The girl winced at his wound and the Hero looked rather ashamed. He scuffed his boot and looked away from the nasty wound he had delivered himself. The girl asked the demon lord, "Can Link take off your…shirt, Ghirahim? I can't see your entire wound with it on." Ghirahim looked at her, then down at his bloodstained jumpsuit. He _loved_ this jumpsuit, despite hating skin tight clothes—his former _Master_ had ordered him to wear it. He grimaced and nodded tightly.

The Hero knelt down and unsheathed his blade. He easily cut away at the wet, dirty fabric, starting with the shoulder strap and then slicing it down to the limp sash on his waist. He peeled it off from his wet skin and caught himself staring at both the bloody wound and the taught, pale stomach. He blushed lightly and sheathed his sword as he stood. The girl nodded thankfully at him, then knelt down and held her hands over the weeping wound, and started to sing.

The four others remained silent as her singing rose and fell with the forgotten words, creating beautiful notes that fell from her lips and landed upon Ghirahim's chest. A golden, sparkling light shimmered from her hands and covered Ghirahim's extensive, fatal wound. Ghirahim winced at first, unused to the feeling, but the dog, Hero and other boy watched as his face relaxed as his wound started to miraculously heal.

After several stanzas of the high pitched, beautiful song of healing, the girl ceased and folded her hands in her lap. Ghirahim's chest was healed, but it was shiny silver compared to the rest of his grey skin. The scar was ugly, knotted and reached from his shoulder blades down to his navel, and stretched from each side and wrapped around a few individual ribs. Ghirahim propped himself up on his elbows as he looked at his once flawless skin, and scowled.

"You'll need to rest a few days," the girl told him softly. "You're still suffering from blood loss, and you'll be weak for quite some time until your body recovers. Don't overdo anything, alright? No magic, either."

Ghirahim glared at him but slid his gaze towards the Hero. Ghirahim looked at him with raised eyebrows, noticing the slight color to the tips of his ears. "Well, Hero?" he said snappishly, "Am I to sleep outside, or at the foot of your bed? Or perhaps the floor if I'm not good enough for your furniture?"

His words were sharp and hateful enough that the others—besides that damned girl and the actual Hero himself—believed he was just trying to rile Link up and he didn't actually pose those statements as real questions.

The Hero flushed again, a darker shade of red. "No," he said, quickly but firmly. "Since we can't go back up to Skyloft, I was thinking we'll just sleep here for the night. I can take a quick trip up to Skyloft to get some blankets or something."

The girl cut the Hero off before he could jabber on. "Groose can bring you down some," she said, and the aforementioned Skyloftian gaped at her.

"I will?"

"Yes, you will, Groose," Zelda said, turning to look at him with her hands on her hips. "You better get going now if you want to get back before dark. Get three blankets, _at least_, and two pillows. I don't care where from."

Groose's mouth opened, closed, and then he scowled and lumbered towards the still turning Gate of Time. Zelda smiled at Ghirahim, who was still lying on the ground, running his fingers along the gruesome scar, and at Link, who was standing awkwardly near the sword spirit.

As if on cue, Fi flipped gracefully from the pommel of the Master Sword and said, "Master Link, there is one more thing you must do. You must place the Master Sword in the pedestal near you so I can contain the remnants of Demise's spirit within the blade."

Link blinked at his companion and asked, "What will happen to you?"

"I will fall into an eternal sleep," Fi said. "Until your spirit is reborn to defeat the evil that will stalk this land again, I will remain here."

"Will you wake up, then?"

"No, Master Link," she said, almost sadly, if she could have. "I will not wake up."

Ghirahim looked up at Fi, and knew what she was going to do. Despite himself, he felt a stab of sympathy for both the female sword spirit and the Hero, but mostly for his brethren. She would be conscious, for every second of every day of every year, locking his former Master's spirit away within her holy blade. She would know when her reborn master would wield her again, but never would be able to communicate with him. She would never flip from her pommel, or offer advice, or even feel the wind or sunshine upon her physical form. It was a painful, never ending existence that Ghirahim had even pondered once or twice throughout his painful existence as Demise's slave.

But Fi had no choice. She would reside in her blade forever, and would eventually forget what it felt like to have legs, what it felt like to speak, how the words tasted. Ghirahim looked away as the Hero thrust her blade into the gleaming pedestal and as they exchanged final—and heartfelt—goodbyes.

The room filled with silence, and a single salty drop of water hit the dusty floor. It sounded like an explosion.

* * *

><p><strong>Poor Link. Poor Fi. I was beside myself at this part—parting with the companions is always difficult, and sometimes even deserves a tear or two *coughMIDNAcough*. <strong>

**This is super slow moving right now. Goddess, I'm just retelling the end of the game as we already know it. But I have a plan in mind. A rather evil plan in mind, if I say so myself. Hang in there, lovies!**

**My updates will vary in time from day-to-day to every other and sometimes back again, counting on inspiration and how much dreaded homework I have. But nevertheless, I'll do my best. **

**Sorry for any typos—I tend to have a few embarrassing ones of sorts—and review, if you like. Like I said before, they're appreciated and taken to heart. Thanks to those who have put me or this story on alert. I hope I won't disappoint! Soon, the fun begins.**

**Much love,**

**-Spirit- **


	3. Chapter 3

The darkness was suffocating.

Ghirahim lay in the past, with a soft-scratchy blanket draped over his half-naked body and the darkness crushing his chest. The ground was hard, unforgiving. Dusty.

This darkness, though, was not true darkness. He had known true blackness, and that was inside the dark blade Demise had wielded. _That_ darkness was true. Despairing. Frightening. This darkness, in the Goddess's nearly decimated castle, was kind, soft, suffocating.

Ghirahim's eyes were trained at the ceiling above him. He remembered this place, the rumbling of the earth and the shrill screech of blades clashing. The castle Hylia had resided in was giant, nearly encompassing the entity of the Faron Woods, from the far-reaching Skyview Temple to the Sealed Grounds. The water ways had traced veins throughout the castle. And Demise had ruined it all. Burned it to the ground, crushed the stone, and only left the secluded Skyview and heavily guarded Sealed Grounds untouched. Faron Woods had grown over the ruins of Hylia's grand castle.

But this place had been left untouched from Demise's iron, scaly fist. He was almost glad. It was, in a dusty, old-fashioned kind of way, rather pretty. Ghirahim could admire beauty when he saw it. This temple, the waterfall guarded Cistern, the Temple of Time—all beautiful. All built to be destroyed. Beautiful destruction.

Oh, the beautiful destruction.

Ghirahim let his eyes glide from the stone above him, trailing his eyes down the arches and eventually landing softly on the nearly silent body that lay several feet away from him. The pale, peaceful face relaxed, the green hat and tunic discarded in favor for the shirt under his chainmail and his baggy pants. His boots stood, like crumpled soldiers, near his calves on the right side.

Ghirahim, no matter the will to look away from his one time enemy, couldn't drag his eyes back to the stone above him. No, his gaze remained fixed on his face and his chest—that was turned towards him, since Link had most likely fallen asleep watching him—that was rising and falling with a deep cadence. A steady, lovely, _alive_ cadence.

Would it work? Could this tiny, mortal child become his master? _The_ Lord Ghirahim's master? Would he have the firm hold that Ghirahim needed? Would he order him, in a voice that brooked no argument that made Ghirahim shiver and obey? Would he hit him? Beat him senseless? Make him; _force him_, to do the vilest of things to appease his needs?

Ghirahim shivered and pressed his hand absently over the hideous scar on his chest. He watched the boy sleep. Was he capable of the firm hand Ghirahim needed to function? Ghirahim wasn't sure. But he didn't allow himself to ponder much longer, the thought of Link—the _Hero_—being able to even hold his blade was a fantasy.

This was why.

Long ago, two blades were crafted from the same steel. One, a thick, masterful sword that had the faintest tints of blue throughout its blade and a blue gem on its winged pommel. Another, a slim, diamond shaped weapon as white as snow, glowing like clouds on fire, with a blood red pommel and a blood-dripping ruby. Both created to compliment the other, both the masters of swords. In a long forgotten battle, one was stolen. The white glowing blade was stolen, taken away to a residing demon that thirsted for blood.

No matter what the demon bargained, or what he threatened, the spirit inside of the fierce blade would not immerge. It clung to its power, to the thought its sister would come and find him, save him; bring him back to the light.

His sister never came. She could never find him.

The spirit was worn down, miserable year after miserable year, tainted by blood of innocents, scarred from continual exposure to the darkest of magic. The blade, once a blazing white, dimmed to an off white, then to grey as the spirit's will drained. The power was stolen from him, it waned away, and the blade was nearly black after decades of torture. The spirit had no power left to resist as the demon, tasting his first shot of victory, forcibly withdrew the spirit from its ruined blade.

The demon offered the spirit something. He offered him peace, and power. More power than the Goddess ever could have given him. He could walk free, the demon promised with a smile and by spreading his arms out towards the flourishing demonic world around him. He would be the greatest sorcerer to walk in both the demon realm and on the surface.

All for a price, however.

The demon had to be his Master. Allow him to fully control the blade that had once burned his skin whenever he touched the hilt. He would be given much, if he only agreed to let him wield him, be in his complete control.

The spirit, feeling cold, and looking at his withering, gray hands and to the dimly glowing blood-dripping ruby in his chest, faintly wished for his sister, felt the fatigue in his bones, the weariness pressing in his mind, and bowed to the demon. He was proud, sure, but this was his only chance to continue. He couldn't have endured much longer against the constant tearing dark magic that seeped into his blade.

A wave of the demon's hand, and the once gentle, prideful sword spirit was transformed, in a black column of dark fog, into a writhing, grey-skinned demon of pure evil. He served his master like a good slave. But he was always plotting, always dreaming that one day, he would return back to the Goddess that made him and bow before her feet. But he never did.

He only tasted the bitter sweet tang of her blood.

As the centuries passed, he forgot what he had looked like before. He forgot the gentle side he had shown. He forgot the times when he would never shout, never become angry, when he was calm and collected and the very definition of polite. The memories of serving Hylia slipped away, replaced with cold blooded anger. Anger that she left him to die, to wither, and that thought alone was enough to make him follow Demise as faithfully as he had. Hylia was his enemy, but Demise was as well. But Demise could promise revenge upon the one who had wronged him.

Ghirahim never forgave the Goddess. But he prayed to her, sometimes, when the beatings were too harsh and the nights too long. When Demise was particularly rough, rough enough to make him scream and scream, he would curl on the floor at the foot of his Master's bed—where he had been thrown—and think of his sister and of the life he could barely remember.

He was tainted. That was an obvious fact. He was dark and tainted and dirty. His hilt burned any with good intentions, with a pure mind and strong heart. His very _being _radiated evil and darkness. What hope did he have to be wielded by the Goddess's Chosen Hero? The Goddess herself wouldn't be able to touch him.

That was why he hadn't acknowledged the girl in the sword, when they had first encountered the other in Skyview Temple. He was dirty and evil and _weak_, beyond weak. What use did he have to Fi, the sister he had thought about in his darkest nights? When they were brought together again, when she had been dropped in Eldin when her Master was captured and she left alone, he had stood by until she had flipped out and looked at him.

The words were quiet, guilty, and harsh. Unforgiving. Fi dropped the monotone she had taken on ever since her brother's disappearance and spoke with feeling.

**An Excerpt from That Conversation:**

**Fi: "You've changed."**

**Ghirahim: "You're stating the obvious now, Sister."**

**Fi: "Yes. What else can I say? You've been gone too long."**

**Ghirahim: "Because **_**you**_** didn't come to help. I couldn't very well have gotten away on my own, now could I?"**

**Fi: "If I could have gone after you myself, I would have! But none of the scouts were pure enough to carry me. Hylia searched for you, Ghirahim. But she couldn't enter the Demon's Realm. She sent in scouts for you. All the time."**

**Ghirahim: "She should have done more."**

**Fi: "Yes."**

Ghirahim sat up abruptly at the memory, and couldn't help but stare at the slightly glowing form of the still pure Master Sword. His sister…Fi…he wouldn't be able to communicate to her, ever again. His black, withered heart squeezed at the thought. He found himself standing up, hands ghosting over the ghastly scar, and walked up to the gleaming sword.

He stood in front of it, and watched the blade. It was glowing, faintly, like Fi was barely conscious. Ghirahim spoke, so softly, that he could barely hear it.

"It should have been me."

He should never have been captured. He should have been the one to hold the remnants of Demise's soul. They had decided, him and Fi, years earlier that he was more dispensable. Fi was crafted to be the Hero's first, and he would be a backup of sorts, the Goddess's own weapon if needs be. He should have been the one to be sleeping now, because he could have handled it. So much to ponder, to think about. He liked to think.

Fi liked to analyze. Take an active role in the world around her. It must have been devastating to her to now have to remain silent, forever.

"I'm sorry that I forgot," Ghirahim continued. "I should have remembered how he was. I should have left him while he was gone, gotten back to you, somehow, even though you were unreachable…"

Ghirahim cleared his throat. He looked down to his dirty, bare feet. "I would serve him, Fi, like you said. But I am dark. You were light…he is light too. I would burn him. If I was pure, though…is that what you meant, by purify? My purified blade. But I think I'm too…dirty…to ever be clean again. If only you'd told me how to function alone…you did it…why can't I?"

He waited, for an instant, for Fi's ethereal voice to respond, to reprimand him for his lack of faith, but none came. The only thing that did was a quiet, sleep laced voice form behind him.

"You're not alone, though," the Hero murmured. Ghirahim whipped around and looked at the Hero, who was propped up on his elbow and looking blearily back at him. Ghirahim looked at him, long and hard.

"How much did you hear?"

The Hero sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Enough," was his answer.

Ghirahim turned fully away from the slumbering Master Sword and stepped down a few steps toward the seated Hero. Link looked at him, not even tensing as Ghirahim approached. He wasn't scared. That intrigued the demon lord.

"We'll figure it out," the Hero said quietly, but confidently.

Ghirahim wished he could believe him.

* * *

><p><strong>How bout that? Ghirahim's past in a nutshell.<strong>

**I'm being purposefully vague about the kinds of beatings and experiences Ghirahim went through as Demise's slave. I'm sure we can all figure out what I'm hinting towards.**

**Anyways, I want to respond to the lovely—and insightful!—reviews I received for the past two chapters. Several actually influenced this chapter and the rest of the story.**

**vsama—I hope you enjoy the rest!**

**Gigigirl14—I admit I'm a supporter of Ghiralink, and don't give up hope that this might become one… ;) I hope you enjoy!**

**ChaosxPaladin—Thank you for the long review! Like I mentioned above, your review got me thinking and heavily influenced this chapter. I originally intended for another enemy to come in immediately, like you mentioned, but now I'm leaning towards another idea that doesn't have an enemy pop up instantly. I'm trying to set up the basis for Link's ability to wield Ghirahim once his blade is purified. Thanks for the luck, I think I'll need it. **

**MrMyshka—Thank you! I didn't know if I was handling Ghirahim right. I'm not good with callous or even evil for that matter. I hope I'm doing something right. I hope you enjoy what I have in store.**

**henslight—Thanks for the review! I'm trying to ease Ghirahim out of evil, but I have a feeling I might rush it. I do like the angsty, heartfelt moments. But I assure you, Ghirahim won't be crying anytime soon. At least, not over his past, and certainly not in front of Link. I hope you stick with me and enjoy the ride.**

**deadaleta—I know, right? Poor, dear Fi. I actually liked her, despite everyone else hating her. I'm with you! I want to hug him too! Hope you like it!**

**Well, that's all the reviews. Review if you like (they're appreciated), and till next time, I bid you farewell. Sorry for any typos. **

**-Spirit-**


	4. Chapter 4

Zelda walked leisurely through the Gate of Time, holding a clean shirt and pants for Ghirahim and a spare tunic and practice sword for Link, and faltered when she saw the two men.

She first spotted Link, who was sleeping while he sat hunched forward, chin to his chest. Her eyes drifted up to see a half naked gray mound curled by the Master Sword. She saw a wisp of tangled white hair and a slowly rising chest.

Zelda stood in front of the Gate of Time and watched the two, and wondered what had transpired. Once again, she felt a faint memory rise from the Goddess's countless years and saw a white and red figure standing beside a smaller blue and purple figure, who was hovering and spinning leisurely around the other.

She wondered what had become of that gentle white spirit she faintly remembered. She gently walked around Link and up towards Ghirahim. She stood on the steps and knelt down by him, searching in the curled up heap for his face. She found it resting near the blade, with a hand tucked under his face. She smiled to herself, set the clothes near his hidden head, stood and made her way back to Link.

Link's head was still tucked against his chest. Zelda smiled and called, softly, "Link, wake up."

He groaned and groggily opened his eyes, before wincing as he raised his head. He hissed and rubbed his hand against his neck, and Zelda heard it crack a few times when his head rolled back.

"Zelda?" he murmured sleepily.

She smiled. "Yes, sleepy head," she said, amused. "Sleep well, I see?"

Link groaned and rubbed his eyes. "You have no idea."

Zelda smiled and offered the spare tunic to him. He nodded thankfully to her and reached for his discarded chainmail near his shoes. Zelda set the practice sword near him.

Zelda tilted her head towards Ghirahim, who was still curled—much like a cat—near the Master Sword after Link managed to chainmail over his head. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"

He eyed her as he rolled his head side to side, trying to get the kink out. "Do you?"

She smiled secretively. "I asked you, Link."

Link rolled his eyes. "I don't really care, to be honest with you," he said. "I just don't know what to do."

"Do what Fi told you," Zelda advised. "You need to help purify him."

"And just how am I going to do that? I don't even know where his blade is; let alone how to purify it. In the springs? Sacred flames?"

Zelda tilted her head and smiled a bit. "I think you just answered your own question, Link. But Ghirahim will know where his blade is, but it won't do you much good. You have to purify _him_ first."

Link looked up to where Ghirahim was still sleeping, holding the hem of the green tunic between his fingers. His face softened a bit, only for a moment, and he looked at Zelda and nodded. "I'll do all that I can," he promised solemnly. "I just don't know where to start."

The girl smiled to herself, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Ghirahim was waking up and winding his wiry limbs. "Trust your judgment," she advised. "Think back."

He huffed and pulled the tunic over his head, and looked up as Ghirahim sat up and looked at the clothes piled neatly next to him. Zelda spoke up to the demon before Link could. "Those clothes are for you, Ghirahim," she said pleasantly.

Ghirahim glanced down at her, looking annoyed, before he stood and started shimmying out of the sash on his waist. Link gaped as his one time enemy stripped right in front of them, shamelessly. Both Link and Zelda turned away, but only one of them was blushing from their cheeks to the tips of their pierced ears.

By the time Ghirahim began towards them, still pulling a white long sleeved shirt over his head the blush was tamed down to a mild dusting of red. Ghirahim stood in front of them and crossed his arms. He had attempted to comb his hair the previous night, but it remained a tangled mess on top of his head.

Zelda smiled at him and gestured to his hair. "Would you like me to cut that for you?"

Ghirahim looked offended as his hand flew up to nurse the nest of what was once his beautiful hair. "_Cut_ it? Why would I let you do such a preposterous thing?"

"You're not going to get it untangled," Zelda said sweetly. "It would be better just to cut it off."

Ghirahim scowled, but before he could retaliate Link spoke up. "Just get it over with. The quicker the better, like ripping off plaster."

Ghirahim hissed at him, his dark look never leaving, but he huffed and sat down on the steps like a pouting child after a few moments of glaring. Zelda smiled and looked to Link. "Where do you keep that dagger, Link?"

Before Link had set of to find the parts of the Hero of the Song, he had taken a dagger from the sparring hall on Skyloft and initially carried it with him, but before the final battle with Demise he had shed all the extra things he could. That included practically everything in his pouch and the dagger, but he had hid them all in the temple. Since Ghirahim had occupied his time since the battle, he hadn't the time to retrieve anything.

"Oh, it's over there," Link said, pointing towards the tiny sapling that was sprouting that would become the Tree of Life in the future. "Buried," he added as an afterthought.

Zelda nodded and went towards the tree, stroking the leaves for a moment before she noticed a section of dirt was freshly churned. She dug her hands through the soil and pulled up a dirty, moist pouch and a dagger with a plain brown sheath.

She walked back to Ghirahim and Link, the former of which was still sulking and the latter was standing awkwardly, trying not to look amused but failing.

Standing behind Ghirahim, Zelda unsheathed the dagger and asked, "Ghirahim, can you look down, please?"

Ghirahim huffed and lowered his head, only after glaring dangerously at Link. The Hero looked amused. Zelda took a handful of the white, bristly hair and combed her fingers down through it, from the roots, to find how far it was tangled. Her fingers were stopped by a massive knot and without hesitation, Zelda brought the dagger under the taught hair and it sliced straight through.

Ghirahim winced as if Zelda had lashed him. He took particular care to make sure his appearance was perfect and just hearing his beautiful hair getting cut was torture. He closed his eyes as she continued, slice after slice. He heard his hair land lightly on the ground around him.

It seemed like forever, but Zelda eventually said, "All done," and he reached up to his head. He expected the curtain of smooth hair, but found only air and then his skin. He ran his hands up to his hairline and gasped when a mere half inch of hair brushed through his fingers. His fingers cupped the back of his head, feeling the infinitesimal amount of hair trickle from the nape of his neck to his forehead.

He opened his eyes and nearly gagged at the amount of tangled white hair littered on the floor. He cast desperately around for any kind of reflective surface and when he saw the dagger in Zelda's hand he snatched it away and held it up to eye level. He was frozen at the sight of the very, _very_ short white hair.

Link broke the strained silence. "I think it looks good," he said. He barely ducked quick enough to avoid the hilt of the dagger that was aimed to his head. He looked at Ghirahim's outraged face and nearly laughed.

"It looks _horrible!"_ Ghirahim shrieked. "I might as well be _bald!"_

Zelda easily averted a full blown temper tantrum by saying, "When you're purified, you won't have to worry about it. Your hair will be back to as it was."

Ghirahim stopped, closed his slack jaw mouth, and touched his short hair. He looked at the girl, looking both confused and small at the same time. "Purified?" He parroted, quietly. "You mean that wasn't a joke?" For an instant, he looked annoyed at the pitiful voice that escaped from his lips, but the question still stood.

Link spoke before Zelda could piece together a reply. "No, it wasn't a joke, Ghirahim. If you're feeling well enough, we can set out later today."

Ghirahim looked at the Hero who had saved his life with a look of shock—the kind of shock that a frightened, lost child would show a stranger if they offered to help find their parents. Link smiled at the demon lord, trying to look comforting.

"Yes," Ghirahim said, eventually, absently running his fingers through the pathetically short hair that crowned his head. "Yes, that would be good."

Link couldn't resist. "Good enough to fill your heart with rainbows?"

Ghirahim glared at the Hero, and smirked devilishly after a moment. Even without the signature hair, he still looked intimidating and Ghirahim-like. "You wish, Hero," he snickered.

* * *

><p>The Hero and the demon lord set out for the Skyview temple an hour later. The Hero had the practice sword Zelda had brought him on his back, while Ghirahim was carrying the dagger Zelda had used to cut his hair. Their trek was easy but fast paced. Despite being worn out, Ghirahim kept the pace fast. He wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, if nothing more than to get his hair back.<p>

Skyview, compared to Link's previous ventures there, was devoid of monsters. There was the occasional, wandering Bokoblin with no more drive to attack the pair than a Kikwi. The Temple itself was quiet and strangely serene. When they wandered down the spiraling steps, Link was almost disappointed he didn't have to cut down any Skulltula webs.

Ghirahim didn't speak as they walked. He did, however, look around at the temple he didn't bother to journey through the first time around. He had teleported straight to the final room, where that golden door had stopped him until Link had found him there.

The water was still, barely rippling against the stone walkways. Link jumped over the small gap to the door and watched as Ghirahim simply hopped, barely having an air time due to his long legs. The Hero scowled, but it vanished by the time he had lifted up the door for Ghirahim to duck under.

The cathedral like building before them almost glowed in the light that streamed down. Ghirahim looked at it, and then turned on the spot as he looked around. He couldn't place to faint sense of déjà vu he felt just by looking at this ancient place.

He must have been standing there for a moment too long, because the Hero called, "Ghirahim? Are you coming?"

He turned to face the Hero and saw him standing quite a ways away, turned back to him, looking perplexed at his behavior. Ghirahim scoffed and jogged towards him. "Am I coming? No, I just came to admire the view, Hero," he sneered.

Link smiled a bit and said, "It's this way."

The rest of the temple was just as empty as the rest of it, and it was equally serene. As they entered the last chamber, the one with the tightrope across the great gap, Link said, "Hopefully the wildlife will come and inhabit this place. It's too empty without something living here."

Ghirahim responded, "Would you rather it be filled with Bokoblins?"

Link hesitated, but then said, "If the Bokoblins are anything like we've encountered so far, I don't think I'd mind. They're actually quite docile."

"If their hoard gets too large," Ghirahim warned as he strut towards the tightrope, "They start getting aggressive. Alone they're docile, yes, but get a big enough hoard and you've got a massive, blind army."

Link seemed to think that one over, and by the time he shook his mind free of the thoughts Ghirahim was halfway across the tightrope. He wasn't walking, however, but dangling by his fingertips as he climbed across like a monkey.

Despite himself, Link felt a jolt of fear at how much the tightrope was jolting and bouncing as Ghirahim moved across. He saw the demon's arms straining and releasing, heard the creaking of the ropes, and almost gasped at every hard jolt or sound. His heart was like a stone in his chest and he silently cursed it.

Even though Link was terrified, Ghirahim made it across the gap without any issue. As he reached the edge, he swung his legs up and hooked them on the ground. He grabbed the stake holding the rope to the ground and pulled himself up. Ghirahim turned around and looked at Link, who was feeling almost euphoric since the demon made It safely across.

"Coming, Hero?" the demon called, smirking. "Too afraid? If you are, I can go on alone, no big deal."

Link rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the small smile on his lips. He stepped onto the tightrope and started across, arms stretched out and eyes on the rope beneath his feet. Link wasn't afraid of heights, but the swaying and jerking of the rope was disrupting and a little knee-jerking. Even more so when the rope suddenly jolted down and then up much too suddenly, and Link cried out when he nearly lost his footing and had to grab the rope with both hands and flip upside down.

He peered up towards the other side, feeling disoriented with the world upside down. Ghirahim was laughing and pointing at him. Link felt his cheeks heat up. "That was _not_ funny!" he yelped.

Ghirahim held his midsection as he laughed. "Your face! _Your face!"_

"Shut up!"

Oh, what had he gotten himself into?

Link started shimmying across the tightrope upside down, muttering to himself about how he planned to return to favor to the demon. Ghirahim just laughed and stood back a few steps when he managed to climb up to the other side. Link glowered at him and stomped to the giant door, towards the first sacred spring.

Ghirahim followed, smirking still. Oh, this was going to be very, very fun.

* * *

><p><strong>Good. Whew. Sorry for leaving off before they got to the spring—and starting the whole quest thing so quickly, I thought it seemed rather abrupt—but I wanted to show the purifying process in a whole new chapter so it doesn't seem like a run on thing. <strong>

**I'm sorry if this seemed rather pointless. The whole hair charade took up more than I expected and I realized it was rather an insignificant chapter. Sorry about that! And while I'm in an apologizing spree, sorry for typos or anything of the like. Also for not updating last night, but I went to see The Woman in Black. You can imagine I could barely function after it, of course.**

**Thanks for all the alerts and reviews, guys! I really enjoy getting the emails for them. Here are some responses:**

**Sideways Jill (for both reviews)—At least I'm not alone in Zelda-dislike. She's a good character and all but I just can't like her. Thank you! I hope you enjoy. And I'm sure your Ghirahim story is lovely, I'll have to take a look! He is a sexy beast, isn't he? All my friends think I'm crazy, but I know I'm not the only one. Perhaps, but I'm not sure if Link would be the one to instigate. Perhaps, perhaps. Circumstances. Again, hope you enjoy!**

**Cakestealer—Head-canon? Should I look that up? But I'll assume it's a good thing, so thank you! I hope you enjoy!**

**Anyways, thanks for reading, leave a review if you want, and take my love!**

**-Spirit-  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

When Ghirahim saw the Skyview Spring, he was struck with such a sense of familiarity so strong that it was disconcerting.

All in all, it was a generic place, with the multitude of waterfalls and trees, but the structure before the walkway was so divine that it separated the spring from others scattered around the surface. Even though it was somewhere Ghirahim _knew_ he had never been before, it was so memorable that he couldn't help but feel like it was home.

As he reached the top of the steps, he turned on the spot, craning his head up to look at the sky and the crest of the earthen walls surrounding them. The flora, like all of Faron Woods, was lush and green and so very _alive. _He tore his gaze from above and looked to his feet, where he was standing on an engraved mark in the stone. Ghirahim faintly recognized it, but couldn't place it.

He turned his attention to the statue of the Goddess, staring at him, watching, and the still emblem below her. He walked towards it, ignoring the Hero, and hopped gracefully across the round platforms to reach the one directly before her.

He stood on the engraved emblem that was the same as the still on before him, and raised his eyes to the still statue. Ghirahim blinked, slowly, and lowered his head. He made a silent pledge and turned at the sound of footsteps behind him.

"Stop, Hero," he commanded, holding out his hand as the Hero reached the middle platform. Link stopped and looked at him, both confused and a bit worried. Ghirahim imagined it was the same look he had on his face when Fi was engulfed in the Sacred Flames to hone both her and the Master Sword.

Though he was obviously more worried for her than for me, he thought grimly. He pushed the feeling away as he continued. "You mustn't be too close. You could ruin it all if you get in the way."

The Hero, despite Ghirahim's intent, didn't look affronted and simply nodded before he took a few steps back. Ghirahim scowled a bit and turned back around towards the statue. He took sedated steps forward, until his bare toes were hanging off the edge of the stone. Ghirahim closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the walkway.

Instead of hitting the rock below the sacred water, Ghirahim's body dropped straight down and made only a tiny splashing sound as he disappeared below the water. Link, despite the warnings, took a few steps forward and stood on his tiptoes to peer towards the place where Ghirahim had vanished. He was smarter than to think that something had gone wrong—he learned that lesson with the Sacred Flames ordeal—but he wondered if anything else was supposed to happen.

He wasn't disappointed.

With no warning, a great explosion rocked the Spring as a body rocketed out of the spring water like a missile, and stopped in midair as if it had hit something. The water was in a great orb, floating where it was stopped, churning and rushing in torrents to keep its shape. Link gasped and staggered back, staring at the orb as it glowed with a bright, white light.

The orb started to shine like the sun, and Link, before he had to shield his eyes, could see the outline of a black figure with his arms and legs splayed out and head tipped back. His eyes started to burn and he was forced to look away, covering his closed eyes.

Many things happened at once, after Link had looked away. The rushing sounds of the angry water rapidly turned into the sound of a high pitched note, and over the white noise Link could just hear the sound of a disgusted oath and the distinct ring of teleportation. Just as the teleportation sound stopped, the note expanded and exploded, loud enough to make pain stab through Link's ears.

Over the ringing of his ears, the sound of something wet and heavy hitting stone came before that of water splashing into both water and against stone. There was silence—excluding Link's personal ringing noise—and it stayed that way for several seconds before Link managed to peel open his eyes and look up.

He could see the distinct shape of a body lying on stone, the whiter skin glistening with water. The stone the figure was lying on was darker because of the sheer amount of water that had soaked into it. Link managed to his feet and shakily jumped over the platforms toward Ghirahim.

Link hurried towards the still body, and knelt down next to it. Before he could much else, the demon lord stirred and groaned. His head was tucked away from Link's vision, but he could make out the soggy still-short hair.

"Ghirahim?" he asked, just as the demon started to push himself up, obviously trying not to tremble. He caught the next words in his throat as Ghirahim sat up and turned towards him.

It was still Ghirahim, that much as obvious. The short, white hair, the single pointed ear, the black diamond under his left eye—but much had changed. Ghirahim's skin was whiter, and his lips were a few shades shy of a fiery blush. The most notable physical difference was the strange markings that started on his forehead and wrapped around his eyes and down his neck, disappearing under the soaked white shirt. The markings were the same shade of his lips, but looked faded.

What struck Link the most, however, were his eyes. It wasn't that they were different—except the faint smudges of purple, they were gone—but the look in the black depths. They weren't condescending, or angry, or merciless. No, the look was softer, guarded still, but almost…grateful. A soft, pastel-colored yellow kind of happy.

Link worked his jaw for a moment before any sound came out. "Gh-Ghirahim?"

The strange, alien man in front of him smiled, the red stained lips pulled across bleached white teeth. It wasn't a malicious smile. No, it was amused. A kind amused.

"Yes? It is still me, Hero. You can get that star struck look off your face. Though it does suit you, I must admit."

That was better. At least the sarcasm hadn't left with the malice. "I…did it work?"

Ghirahim's taunting smile didn't leave. If anything, a gloss of greater amusement applied itself over the once-white lips. "What do you think?"

Link swallowed and nodded, suddenly acutely aware of the lack of distance between them and the water soaking the knees of his pants. "Right," he said quickly. "Good." He cleared his throat and looked away. He looked back to ask, "Is this what you really look like?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, now do I?" Ghirahim said, his deep voice _dripping_ with amusement. "I haven't had a chance to look at my new face. Though I don't have many new memories…hmm."

With that, Ghirahim leaned over to the side of the platform and looked into the gently rippling water. He cocked his head and touched the faint red lines weaving around his eyes and traced on down his cheek. "That's strange," he said, more to himself than to Link. "I don't remember these."

Link thought that was strange, and remembered the foul oath he had heard when Ghirahim's body was being purified. He spoke up and described the occurrence to Ghirahim, who turned to look at him as he spoke.

When the Hero finished, Ghirahim looked troubled. He could think of a few possibilities, but didn't share them. "It was probably nothing," Ghirahim lied, slowly getting to his feet and testing out his legs. As the demon straightened out, Link could see the faint red lines that ran along his hands and on his feet. It seemed the markings traveled the length of his body, front and back.

Ghirahim bounced on the balls of his feet, seemingly testing out the strength of his legs. He smiled, looking satisfied, and looked at his hands, turning them over and back, and felt his mutilated ear. It was still disfigured and he sighed, letting his hand fall. Link gestured to the ear and asked, "What happened?"

Ghirahim looked at him, looking like he might refuse, but eventually said, "Demise got angry. I was the closest thing around."

Link winced and wished he hadn't asked. He thought about apologizing, but thought it wouldn't go over well. Ghirahim seemed like the kind of man…demon that didn't care about useless sympathies for things long since over and done with.

Raising his face to the sky, Ghirahim basked in the setting glow of the sun and felt the warmth on his cold skin. He smiled to himself, lowered his head and looked at the Hero. "Well? We better get going, Hero. The Earth Spring isn't coming to us."

The Hero grinned and they started towards the door, leaving the still-silent statue of the Goddess behind them.

* * *

><p>Before they could even get back to the Sealed Grounds, the sky opened and stormed on Faron Woods like nothing Link had ever experienced before. The winds were whipping through the trees and slapping the pair full force, while the rain was flying at them diagonally and hitting into them like individual daggers.<p>

Ghirahim shielded his face with his arm, but the rain was so cold that it almost burned his skin like it was hot. Link wiped his face and grabbed Ghirahim's arm to get his attention. He had to brace himself against the wind so he wasn't knocked back. Link shouted over the howling wind, "We need to find a shelter!"

Ghirahim nodded and twisted his arm, not to get it out of Link's hold, but to return it to the Hero's forearm. They held onto each other's arms as they butted head first against the winds to make headway. The rain was stinging their eyes and Link had to shield his eyes to see, and when he spotted a suitable shelter, he pointed and shouted, "There!"

The place where Link had pointed out was a nook in the cliff walls surrounding the great tree in the middle of the Faron Woods. It was neatly hidden from sight and looked big enough to cover both Ghirahim and Link relatively well.

Link pushed Ghirahim into it first and hurried in afterwards. The space was damp and narrow, but it was just big enough so they could huddle at the back and sit opposite of each other. When Ghirahim sat with his back against the left wall, his legs stretched out to rest against the opposite wall. Link pulled off his hat, wrung it out, and sat against the wall that Ghirahim's feet were.

The Hero stretched his legs out like Ghirahim and his feet were a good ways away from the rock wall. Ghirahim scrubbed his hands through his wet, short hair and smoothed it back down again. Link looked out the mouth of the cave towards the monsoon outside. He was reminded about the time when the water dragon flooded the Faron Woods, the rain was so thick. It looked like streaking fog and sounded like thunder.

Ghirahim noticed his stare and looked out too. He was the first to speak. "That's no normal storm," he said.

Link turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"It doesn't rain like this here. Somewhere close by, a sorcerer or demon is very, very angry. Weather happenings like this tend to happen when powers are unleashed from an unbridled kind of fury."

Link turned to look out to the rain. "I hope the reason for that fury isn't because of us."

"Though I admire your optimism, I have very little doubt that it _doesn't."_

* * *

><p>In a dark, dank cave deep under the surface of Faron Woods, a lithe figure was upturning tables with detailed maps and neat, handwritten plans. The fury rolling from the figure was almost visible.<p>

Their shout of frustration coincided with a particularly loud clap of thunder far above them. An ancient looking dagger was picked up from a nearby desk and thrown across the room, where it hit the wall and stuck in the eye of a crudely drawn replica of a certain demon lord.

"How did he _survive?" _The figure screeched. "How did that scum survive while Demise did not? That _ungrateful traitor! _That _bastard!_ How _dare_ he live after his Master falls! He _must be punished! _He_ must _pay for his treason against Demise_! _Him and that Hero! They will suffer together! That I swear!"

There was a harsh sweep of wind and rain, and a crackle of lighting that blended with a shriek of fury after their tirade. Above them, a certain demon lord and hero fell asleep in their tiny sanctuary, unknowing of the oaths the figure swore against them.

Oh, how they would _pay._

* * *

><p><strong>Boo-yah! Enemy introduced! We're finally getting somewhere.<strong>

**I liked writing this chapter. It took me a while to get started but soon I found myself unable to stop. Even for homework, which I'm going to regret, but whatever, school pales in comparison to Ghirahim fanfiction. **

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I get all giggly when I get the emails for them, and the alerts, too. Now to counterbalance a thanks with an apology, sorry for any typos or anything. **

**Now to respond to the multitude of reviews! Oh, this part is always fun. **

**henslight—I know, right? I can barely imagine Ghirahim with the hairstyle I described, but it had to be done. I try to keep myself within 4-6 pages on Word, I guess that's a good area, yeah? Thanks for the review, and enjoy!**

**When Boredom Takes Over—Thanks, dear! I always thought the Goddess was the only one powerful enough to create a Sword Spirit, and Demise was greedy enough to steal one and soil it. I think if you're thinking evil enough, you've gotten what I'm aiming towards. I'm no good with banter or arguments (I tend to just ignore them) so the fact that you think it's realistic is very, very good to me. I'm not sure what it's going to be, though I love Ghiralink, I'm not sure if it's going to become that. It just depends what comes out on the screen, I suppose. I hope you enjoy what I have in store!**

**Fudge Cake. Zelda 97 (sorry, you're username won't stay up!)—I don't think the number of reviews is directly related to the success of the story, but it doesn't really bother me. To know at least a few people are enjoying it is good enough for me. I'm glad they seem realistic to you! Thanks for reviewing, and enjoy!**

**Sideways Jill—Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. –pulls collar and whistles innocently—My friends think he's a creeper too, but my best friend thinks he's a sexy beast, too. Of course, hun! I enjoy reading your reviews. They never fail to make me smile. You know, we're very similar, because I tend to doodle pictures of Ghirahim and Fi all over my bio notes. Thanks for the love and reviews, and enjoy!**

**increak96—(both reviews) *returns high five* I knew I wasn't the only one! Thanks, dear! Like I said before, I'm not sure if it's going to be Ghiralink or just friends. Thanks again for the love and feedback, it's appreciated and treasured! I have no plans to quit this thing any time soon. Enjoy!**

**Whew! Thanks for the reviews, guys! See you next chapter. Take my love until then!**

**-Spirit-**


	6. Chapter 6

Eldin proved to be much more dangerous than Skyview.

The first problem to overcome was how they were going to get Eldin. The whole region was too hot for the Loftwings to land in, and Ghirahim wasn't strong enough to teleport them both over that much land.

What Link came up with was a simple but very dangerous plan. Once the storm in the Faron Woods had passed, Link had called his Loftwing, Crimson, down to them. He and Ghirahim had mounted together and managed to remain upright for the flight up through the cloud barrier and towards the beam of light that led to Eldin.

On Link's command, Crimson soared lazily around the portal while Link and Ghirahim clumsily folded themselves in awkward poses to prepare for the journey down. What they settled for was Ghirahim's arms around Link's shoulders, his legs wrapped firmly around the Hero's waist and ankles locked, while the Hero himself held the sailcloth. Before they jumped, Ghirahim's knees pressed into the Hero's hips and that gave the Hero the vital flexibility he needed to launch himself from Crimson's back.

They fell with astounding speed, and Ghirahim had to close his eyes so he didn't start panicking. The wind rubbed the nape of his neck raw and after several long, scary moments of falling they jerked upright as Link let the air catch his sailcloth. Ghirahim locked his ankles and clung to Link as they floated down towards the ground.

Link hastily threw his legs forward and then back, trying to aim them towards the brown chunks of land that were rapidly reaching up to meet them. Ghirahim was no help, if anything he was throwing him off. He desperately tossed his legs forward in an attempt to move back, and he just managed to land safely before the earth temple gate.

When the pair landed, Link's legs gave out under the force of landing and Ghirahim's weight. He fell back onto his backside, his hands hitting the ground hard on either side of him. Just before he fell, he felt Ghirahim's ankles release, and when he hit the ground he heard the sword spirit's knees hit the ground with two sickening cracks. His arms were still wound tight around his shoulders while the short hair was tickling Link's neck and cheek.

Suddenly acutely aware of the closeness of their bodies, Link's face unwillingly flared up as bright as his Loftwing's feathers. His hands, which were aching from the impact, came up and hovered awkwardly by Ghirahim's sides, unsure whether to hug him in return or push him off.

Ghirahim made the decision before Link could pluck up the courage to do either. He pulled his face away and put his hands on Link's shoulders. His deep, nearly black eyes were filled with amusement. His stained lips curled with the amusement that leaked from his eyes and he leaned forward to whisper in the Hero's ear.

"Sorry, but I think I'm a bit old for you, don't you think? A millennia or two can drive a real wedge between different age couples."

Link's face heated up even further and Ghirahim laughed a deep, rumbling sound before he got to his feet and offered the Hero a hand, still smirking. Link ignored the hand and got to his feet himself, studiously ignoring the slight trembling in his legs.

Ghirahim's smirk grew. He said, "Let's get a move on, Hero. The sooner we get this over with the better. I don't have a very good feeling about this place."

The Hero nodded, scrubbed his still red face irritably with the back of his hand, and followed his companion down into the depths of the boiling Earth Temple.

* * *

><p>Unlike Skyview, the Earth Temple was still filled with the monsters it had before. The Keese were particularly annoying—like always—and they managed to scald Link's tunic and skin in several places throughout their journey through the temple. The spumes were also nuisances, but both Ghirahim and Link could dodge their projectiles easily enough.<p>

When they reached the large, winding room where Link had defeated Scaldera, the Hero spoke up. "You know, I still have scars from this battle."

Ghirahim turned to look at him, interested. He watched as Link made the running jump to the platform that began the tall, winding path up to the spring. The Hero turned to look at him and waited until Ghirahim made the leap to continue.

"Oh yeah," Link said. "He was one of the hardest to defeat. I got burnt pretty badly on my back, and the Heart Container couldn't heal it completely. It left a pretty nasty scar…kind of like yours."

Ghirahim pursed his lips as they started up the path. "Remember when we battled the first time around?"

"In Skyview? Yeah, how could I forget?"

Ghirahim's lips twitched before he continued. "I dropped that Heart Container for you."

Link gaped at him. "Why?"

"You were weak," Ghirahim shrugged. "I wanted you to be stronger. Truthfully, I was hoping that you could defeat me _and_ Demise so you could free me. But if you couldn't, I had to look like I had did all I possibly could so Demise wouldn't accuse me of treason."

Link quickened his steps to keep up with Ghirahim's long strides. "So you were basically splitting your chances? If I won, you were helping me become stronger so I could defeat Demise, but if I lost, you were making me stronger so I was more of an opponent…for fun."

"You catch on quick, Hero."

"But why did you want me to kill you afterwards? When Demise was dead? Wasn't that what you wanted?"

Ghirahim faltered for a step but continued at the relentless pace. "I had forgotten how painful it was to be alone," he admitted. "I didn't want Demise as a Master, but I didn't want to be without one, either. I let my emotions get the better of me."

"How are you coping now, then? You still don't have a Master."

Now Ghirahim did slow his pace, and he looked at the Hero next to him. He took in the flushed face, the tiny trickle of sweat on his temples, the hay-colored hair, and said, "I'm not alone."

The Hero slowly smiled, nodded resolutely, and hurried next to Ghirahim up to the spring.

* * *

><p>Now, we did mention that the Earth temple was much more dangerous than Skyview. This wasn't just because of a few angry Keese, annoyed spumes and a tentative heart-to-heart between our two unlikely companions. No, this was because of the enemy that lay in wait on the edge of the Earth Spring.<p>

The ritual was much the same as before, if more determined and quick. Ghirahim hopped to the final platform, sent a prayer to the Goddess, and walked off into the water. He vanished beneath the surface and silence reigned.

Link knew there was something wrong this time around. Not with the purification itself, but with the surroundings. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and Link was experienced enough to know not to doubt his sixth sense. He reached back and drew his sword, holding it tightly in his left hand. He didn't have a shield, but he's often fought without one.

For the moment, he just wanted to feel the steady weight of the blade in his hand.

Link started slightly when he heard the explosion of water from behind him, and the whirling of the water. When the note started to ring out throughout the spring, Link felt he air shift and turned around towards the bright orb floating above the water. He turned just in time to see a massive, molten boulder shoot down and land dangerously close to the stationary water chamber Ghirahim was in.

Link gasped and stumbled back, throwing up his arm to shield his face from the massive wall of steam that hissed out from under the super heated boulder. Link cried out when another rock, bigger than the first, just missed Ghirahim's form and landed on the opposite side as the first.

Whoever was there, their aim was getting better and Link had to stop it.

The only idea that came to Link's addled brain was to divert their attention. Before even thinking whether or not if it was a good idea, Link waved his sword and arm above his head and shouted over the screeching note, "Hey! You too scared to aim for a moving target? You can't even hit a stationary one!"

His plan proved to be successful, because the next molten rock was lobbed at him. He managed to jump to the next platform, further from Ghirahim, and watched as the platform he was standing on cracked from the force of the impact. The boulder cracked in half and toppled into the water, issuing steam from both halves.

Link brandished his sword and screamed, "MISSED ME! YOUR AIM IS WORSE THAN A SPUME'S!"

The Hero managed to dodge the next four boulders, screaming taunts the entire time. By the time he rolled out of the way from a boulder the size of his torso, Ghirahim's body had been released from the water and dropped unceremoniously onto the stone below him.

Link stood and went to sheathe his sword so he could reach Ghirahim quicker, but a blinding and sweltering object struck his forearm. Link cried out as his arm snapped under the brunt force of the rock—that was the size of his head and as hot as lava—hitting his sword arm. The practice sword went flying from his hand and spiraled into the spring behind him.

Holding his injured arm to his stomach, Link jumped the platforms as fast as he could to kneel roughly by Ghirahim's still side. They were sitting gooses, and Link knew it would only be a matter of time before the rock-thrower finally hit them.

Link's uninjured hand gripped Ghirahim's soaked shoulder and he roughly pulled his body towards him. He didn't have the time to examine Ghirahim's new physical appearance, not like last time. Ghirahim's eyes snapped open and he groaned, struggling to get onto one elbow. "Wha…?"

"We need to move," Link grunted through his clenched teeth. His arm was burnt, most likely broken, and shooting debilitating pain up his arm and into his shoulder. "_Now,"_ he emphasized.

Ghirahim seemed to understand the urgency in his voice. He reached up and grabbed Link's shoulders and pulled him towards his body. With a snap of Ghirahim's fingers, the two of them disappeared in a cloud of red and white diamonds. Not a second later, a boulder the size of the platform fell down where they had lain, breaking the solid stone into several pieces, followed by several colorful and passionate oaths.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, I was going to continue this a bit further, but I think it fits in better with the next chapter better than here. It would flow better too, I think. Even though this story is basically a plot-less jumble of insignificant chapters all piled into one. <strong>

**I'm not sure about the level of interesting in this chapter—or any of the others, to be honest with you—but I'm hoping the constant updates makes up for the lack of substance. I have a pretty good idea where this is leading now, and I tell you, it's not going to be pretty. Brace yourselves for a not-so-happy ending.**

**Anyways, I want to thank you for reading, apologize for any typos or mistakes (not including Link's left handiness, I did that on purpose, even though in SS he's right handed), and respond to the lovely reviews I got for the last chapter!**

**increak96—Thanks dear, but you'll have to wait for quite some time before we learn who they are! **

**MrMyshka—Thanks! Originality is important to me, if plot isn't. *is sheepish* I kind of noticed that too, but I guess this is more of a roll-with-the-punches kind of story. But whatever. I have drawn Ghirahim's markings (several times), but believe, me, you don't want to see them. It's better to just have difficulty imagining them than to see my mutilated sketches. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for the long review!**

**hlf1495—Like I said before, I have no idea whether it is or not. Thanks! I hope you like what I have in store.**

**Sideways Jill—His hair will come back, I assure you. Just not quite yet. I like the markings, personally, I think they do add character, and a bit of mystery. Good luck with your homework, but enjoy eighth grade while you can—it only gets worse the higher up you get. Enjoy and thank you!**

**Now, off to eat some chocolate. Thanks for reading! See you next time.**

**Much love,**

**-Spirit-**


	7. Chapter 7

Link found out that day he did _not_ like teleporting.

It was all a jumbled mess and constant tugging and pulling from every angle, then a disorienting reconstruction and slam at the end. It made his stomach heave and vision spin uncontrollably. At this particular instance, his arm was jolted and it felt like it had been broken all over again. The meager contents of his stomach churned forebodingly while his head pounded behind his eyes.

When he landed, he was on his knees and they slammed painfully onto the stone of wherever they were. His vision was spinning and black in spots so he couldn't really figure out where they were, but it was still hot, so he guessed they were still in Eldin somewhere.

He put his uninjured hand to his head in an attempt to ground himself, and only after a few long seconds did his vision stabilize and clear. He was dismayed to see they were only just outside of the Earth Temple. Link held his hand more firmly to his temple as he blinked, looking down at Ghirahim. He had collapsed back onto both of his elbows, head back and throat bared in an attempt to get his breath back.

Link had a moment to look over Ghirahim's new features. His body hadn't changed much—he was still lean, thin and tall, while his face was rounded but perhaps thinner in the cheeks—but the red lines weaving across his skin were more pronounced and a more vivid red. His lips were stained the same color, while the black diamond had all but faded. His hair had grown, and was the same shocking white. Though it was no where near the length it had been, it was enough to look like he actually did have hair.

Link's eyes traced the vivid red lines that graced his throat, like streams of crimson blood that had trickled down his body, and disappeared beneath the white, long sleeved shirt he wore. The lines centered around a small, red diamond in his forehead and branched off, tracing around his eyes like parentheses.

Before he could view his brighter markings for any longer, Ghirahim lifted his head and opened his eyes, keeping them half lidded as he looked at the Hero. His vivid red lips curved up in amusement.

"Good enough for you?" Oh Goddess, could his voice have gotten any more provocative?

Link cleared his throat and nodded, jerkily. His arm sent spikes of pain through his body in revenge for forgetting about it. Ghirahim must have noticed the sudden tenseness in the Hero's face, because he sat up straighter and asked, "What happened? Were you hit?"

If he had been injured anywhere else, Link would have replied in the negative so they could get back to the Sealed Grounds, but the pain in his arm was so debilitating there was no way he could flex his fingers without pain, let alone hold a sailcloth and steer Crimson. He nodded, a sharp jerk of the head, his hand holding his hurt elbow.

Ghirahim straightened completely and reached for his broken arm with his long, elegant fingers. Link looked up at him, not allowing the sword spirit to take his arm from where it was pressed against his stomach.

"I can heal it," Ghirahim explained, holding his hand out, palm up, waiting for Link to offer his arm. When the hero finally did, Ghirahim turned his arm so like his own had been, the palm was up and the burnt, swollen forearm was belly up.

With a deep breath, Ghirahim's eyes drifted closed, and he focused on the feeling of his new body, feeling the taught skin and the power tingling at the tips of his fingers. He felt the power of his returning magic thrumming through his veins, circling in his gut in a whirlpool of excess energy. He was aware of the weakness in his limbs from the teleporting, and of the supple—if burnt—skin of the Hero in his hand.

Ghirahim tapped into the power in his core, and pulled it through his chest and down his arm to pool in his fingers. When he felt enough had accumulated, he gently pushed the magic through the barrier of their skin and into the Hero's arm. He still had control over it, and with the power, he extended his focus into the Hero's body, feeling the blood pumping, the tense muscles, and the strong bone.

As his focus traveled along the length of Link's arm, he encountered a disruption in the natural flow of his body. A fracture in the middle of the bone, and as Ghirahim expanded his focus, he felt the tiny pieces of shrapnel like bone that had exploded off of the whole. Ghirahim pulled at the power thrumming by him, pulling tiny tendrils off the whole, and extended them towards each piece of bone and to the other side of the fracture.

With each piece connected to the same source, Ghirahim was now able to tug at the pieces and arrange them like a puzzle back into a whole piece. It took a few attempts, but soon each piece of Link's bone was assembled back together. With the excess energy still floating just under Link's skin, Ghirahim pushed it onto and into Link's bone to speed the recovery. In a matter of seconds, Link's bone was whole and the swelling was reduced, while the severed muscles and blood vessels were reattached.

Ghirahim pulled his consciousness out of Link's body and back into his own. For a moment, he felt disoriented and wondered why his limbs felt so long and wiry, unlike the compact versions like the Hero's. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to focus his vision and stop the world from spinning.

A hand on his shoulder grounded him, and He managed to stare at the Hero's nose and it stopped the world from tilting dangerously. Ghirahim nodded, more to himself than to Link, and released his grip on the Hero's now healed arm.

"Ghirahim? Ghirahim, are you alright?" The Hero's voice broke through his momentary haze of confusion, and the sword spirit nodded.

"Yes," he replied faintly. "I'd just forgotten how much energy it takes to heal a broken bone."

The Hero's voice was laced with concern. "Will you be alright?"

"Should be," Ghirahim assured, trying to work feeling back into his fingers without Link noticing.

"We have to go," Link said after a long moment of silence. "We need to get to the Sealed Grounds as quickly as possible. Can you stand?"

Ghirahim nodded and started to rise, but his knees buckled under the pressure of his weight. Only Link's grip on his elbow kept him from falling to the scorched earth. While before he would have hissed and snapped at Link, now he only tensed and nodded towards him in acknowledgment. Link tugged his arm around his shoulders and wrapped his now healed arm around Ghirahim's narrow waist.

The position, as they staggered towards the bird statue, was eerily familiar to the one in the final battlefield, when Link had defeated Demise. Ghirahim closed his eyes at the memory and wondered when he had become so weak.

Sooner than he was expecting, Link was tugging at his other arm to wrap around his shoulders. He had the sailcloth in one hand, while he waited for Ghirahim to fold himself around Link's body. For a moment, Ghirahim hesitated, before bending down and practically hugging the Hero, his knees pressed to his thighs and arms wrapped tight around his broad shoulders.

Link reached out and put his hand to the statue, before he quickly grabbed the other end of the sailcloth. In a whirlwind, the pair was lifted up and they spiraled up into the sky. The moment Ghirahim's feet left the ground, his legs climbed up around Link's hips and his ankles locked behind him. The sword spirit clung on for all his worth, despite the weakness in his limbs and the weariness pressing on his eyes.

When Link whistled for his Loftwing, Ghirahim opened his eyes and tilted his head back, in an attempt to aid Link in mounting the giant bird. The crimson beast came soaring towards them out of nowhere. But unlike he usually did, Crimson dove with them, letting Link and Ghirahim arrange themselves on his back before he transitioned into an upward dive.

Link, without hesitations or reservations, pulled Ghirahim's body as close as he could to his while his own legs held Crimson as firmly as he could. Ghirahim was practically a dead weight, and a loose dead weight at that. Even though he had a death grip on his shoulders, he was shifting his weight precariously from side to side.

The Hero managed to get both of their bodies relatively safely onto Crimson's back, and with a certain squeeze of his boots into his sides, Crimson began an easily ascent. Ghirahim let his legs drop from Link's hips and down to grip the bird's body. He didn't release his shoulders, but his grip was getting steadily weaker.

Link was starting to worry that he wouldn't be able to stay conscious for the flight back to the Sealed Grounds. Skyloft was fast approaching, so over the howling wind, Link said, "Do you want me to stop at Skyloft before we go to the Sealed Grounds?"

Ghirahim remained motionless for a moment or two, before his head lazily nodded his agreement against Link's neck. The Hero felt a prick of worry at the sluggish motion, and urged Crimson faster on his a squeeze of his knees.

With a few simple commands, Link was able to have Crimson land in the plaza, a usual no-no for landings due to the people and children that can easily stroll through their landing zones. But Link was desperate, feeling Ghirahim's arms grow heavy against his body and his head starting to loll, and he estimated he could take the risk.

When Crimson landed, he promptly lay down—or the bird equivalent of a laying down—so his passengers could dismount easier. Link rubbed his Loftwing's feathers appreciatively before hauling Ghirahim's body up and off Crimson's back, letting him lay against his body as he slid down to the ground.

Ghirahim remained still as Link carefully laid his body down, with his shoulders resting against his legs and his head nestled against his chest. He felt for a pulse, noticing how his eyes were closed and breathing irregular and shallow. He felt only mildly relieved at the presence of one.

"Ghirahim!" Link said, sternly. "Ghirahim, wake up!"

The sword spirit didn't respond. Link shook his head, lightly, trying to rouse him. "Ghirahim!" he called, more loudly. "Don't go to sleep! Wake up!"

Ghirahim remained stubbornly silent. Link was really starting to panic. He raised his head and looked around, seeing Karane walking nearby. He shouted, "Karane! Get Professor Owlan or the Headmaster! Please, hurry!"

His voice must have cracked with worry or desperation, because Karane didn't backtalk. She nodded, looking worried even at a distance, turned and ran off as quickly as she could towards the Academy.

Link turned his attention back to Ghirahim. He said, loudly, "Ghirahim, I didn't save you just so you can die on me now! You're not giving up without a fight, do you hear me? Not with me fighting for you! Ghirahim, _wake up!"_

**How about that for a cliffie? Or not, either way, I was never good at defining or writing cliffhangers. **

**Pointless chapter, again. But I'm tired and a little loopy today, so this is what you get. Take it how you want. **

**Oh, a fun little tidbit: I drew a sketch of Ghirahim in his true purified form, with the markings, for those who asked for them. You can look at it here: http:/ spiritoftherose. deviantart. com/#/d4p3qzf**

**Just take out the spaces. I warn you, I'm no artist. It was just a thing to show his marks. **

**Okay, now for review responses!**

**increak96—Thanks! I enjoyed that particular part, it made me giggle just writing it. And I did, thank you! Chocolate is always good.**

**vsama—Your wish is my command. Look at the aforementioned link. Thanks for reading!**

**MrMyshka—I've never played the LoZ game with Vaati, but I've read a good amount of fics and seen quite a few pictures of him. He's not the villain here, but I easily see the comparison. Thanks! Blushing!Link is always fun to write. Indeed, but death is part of what we are. It defines us. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!**

**Thanks for the reviews, and have my love until next time! **

**-Spirit-**


	8. Chapter 8

Link was still trying to get Ghirahim to wake up when Karane, Instructor Owlan and Headmaster Gaepora came sprinting towards them. Owlan was out in front; his white hair and robes streaming behind him like a banner. Karane was next in line, followed by a lumbering Headmaster.

The Instructor didn't slow his pace until he came to Link and the strange looking man who seemed to be unconscious. He knelt and looked at the man, noticing the red lines and the shallow breathing. "What's happened, Link?" He didn't bother asking who this man was. It would get them no where.

Link tried to piece together an explanation. How could he possibly tell Instructor Owlan everything that had led them up to here? He went for the simplest answer. "He used too much magic too soon. I'm not sure if it was enough to kill him…but…I don't know what to do."

His Instructor looked confused at the word magic, but then he looked at Link in the eye, with those stern eyes of his, and said, "You were right to bring him here, Link. Good thinking. But now we need to get him to a dorm. Here—" And with that, the delicate looking Instructor Owlan lifted the limp body of the strange man from his knees and shoulders.

Link followed, looking lost, as his Instructor carried his friend up to the Knight Academy. He readily offered his own dorm for Ghirahim to recover in. Link hurried towards his room and opened the door wide, so Owlan could slip in and lay Ghirahim down on his underused bed.

Immediately after the strangely marked man was lying down, Owlan went to work. He felt for his pulse, studied his breathing pattern; put his hand over his heart to feel its pumping, among some things. Link watched, feeling anxious for his friend—wait, since when did his once sworn enemy become his friend?

Link pondered this for only a moment before he was shaken out of his thoughts by Owlan turning to him and saying, "He should be fine. It seems he is just exhausted—he should wake whenever his energy is restored. There is nothing I can do for him, but it would be beneficial if someone was to watch over his breathing through this night."

Link dropped down into his chair by the desk in relief. He let out a huge sigh and let his head drop into his hands. He heard the door close as the Headmaster entered and stood in the middle of his room. When his Headmaster began speaking, Link looked up to better hear his words.

"Who is this, Link?" Straight to the point, as always.

Link worked his jaw for a moment before he said, hesitantly, "A friend. He was injured in the final battle between me and Demise—the great evil, sir. I couldn't leave him to die. His name is Ghirahim."

Headmaster Gaepora stroked his chin before he spoke again. "What _is_ he, exactly? I've never encountered anything like him…not even tales Zelda has related to me ever speak of such a creature."

Link rubbed the back of his neck and looked sheepish. "I'm not sure if I should tell, sir. Honestly, the less you know the better. It's dangerous for us to be here as it is, we've made quite a few enemies and with the cloud barrier open at all times, one of them could easily come up and attack Skyloft in an attempt to hurt or capture us. If they find out you know anything about Ghirahim, they won't hesitate to force it from anyone here, and however they can."

Instructor Owlan straightened from Ghirahim's bedside and tucked his arms in his sleeves. "Yes, that is wise. But may I ask, you said he did too much magic? Can this…Ghirahim truly do magic?"

Link hesitated before he nodded. "Yes," he said. "He can teleport, summon weapons and things like that. What happened was he had to teleport us out of a sticky situation, and my arm was broken…he healed it, but I guess he used to much energy. I was worried he would die, truthfully. I've never seen anything like it."

Headmaster Gaepora nodded. "Yes, well. It seems he will recover. Until then, you should rest, Link. You look as pale as a ghost. Eat something, and sleep. Someone can watch over Ghirahim in the time being."

Link shook his head, firmly. "No, sir," he said adamantly. "I want to stay here. I'm not hungry, and I don't think I can sleep quite yet."

Only Instructor Owlan could restrain his sigh, but by the looks of it, the Headmaster didn't even try. "I had a feeling you were going to say that," he said. "Very well. I'll have Fledge or someone bring you up dinner. But do try to get some sleep, Link; you look dead on your feet."

The Headmaster nodded to both of them and left Link's room. Instructor Owlan turned to Link and said, "Heed his advice, Link. Doing this to yourself will do nothing to aid Ghirahim recover." With a nod, the Instructor also left, leaving Link alone with an unconscious Ghirahim and his own thoughts.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim slept for four days.<p>

Link thought he would sleep through the night and wake up around noon the next, ready to go back to the Sealed Grounds. He expected Ghirahim to now start on his mission to regain his physical sword and it would all be done and over with. But no. Ghirahim slept through that day…and the next…and the next.

The Hero was starting to worry. He'd sleep on the ground, curled up by Ghirahim's bedside, wondering when his friend would awaken. He truthfully was starting to panic when Ghirahim didn't wake up on the fourth day. Both Instructor Owlan and Headmaster Gaepora had come every day to check up on them, and both assured Link that he needed to recover and that he would wake up.

That didn't help Link's constant feelings of anxiousness at every minute that passed by when Ghirahim didn't stir. So, of course, it was at a moment that Link as sprawled in the unforgiving wooden chair that he had turned towards Ghirahim's bed, head lolling and eyes drifting shut, when Ghirahim stirred and started to wake.

Link was pulled out of his semi-slumber state when he heard a soft groan from the bed. He sat up straight and was greeted with the sight of Ghirahim's wide, black eyes blinking and his marked hand reaching up to touch his head. Link couldn't help but grin when the sword spirit's eyes turned to him and those red lips asked, "Link? How…how long have I been sleeping?"

Link's grin died down to a mild smile but his heart was doing cartwheels in happiness that his friend was awake. "Four days," he informed.

Ghirahim looked mildly put off. "Four? That's ridiculous. I expected two, maybe, but _four? _I didn't use that much energy."

"You must have," Link said. "I assure you, it's been four days. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable this floor is? I promise, if you had to sleep on that God-awful floor you would remember every second of it."

Ghirahim's lip quirked in amusement as he slowly sat up, rubbing his head. "Indeed," he said, his voice as equally amused as his smirk. There was a comfortable-awkward silence that Link eventually broke. "What now?"

"What do you mean?" Ghirahim asked, looking at the Hero. "We have to go to the next sacred spring."

Link felt a stab of worry. Did something happen to Ghirahim's head? "Next? Ghirahim, there are only two."

Ghirahim scoffed. "You seriously think that that desert didn't have a sacred spring of its own? It was more of a refining spring, like polishing a piece of metal after it's shaped. I'd rather be completely purified than an incomplete job. I can barely remember anything anyways, I need the memories the spring will restore."

Link frowned. "But why didn't Zelda need it? And where is it, then? Lanayru is all desert. Unless it's underground, it's long gone."

The sword spirit rolled his eyes. Seems he is still is easily annoyed. Link stored that piece of information away for later. "Haven't you ever heard of a Timeshift stone? Of course it's dried up, and the Maiden didn't need it because like I said, it was a refining spring. If she had been purified in it, then she would better remember her earlier years and the ones she does remember in greater detail."

Link sat back in his chair, looking discouraged. "I used a Timeshift stone on practically every inch of that desert," he said. "I didn't see a spring anywhere, Ghirahim. Not even a puddle. Or a place where a spring could have existed at all."

Ghirahim grinned. "You just didn't know where to look, Hero. I know where it is. Get packed, we're going to Lanayru."

* * *

><p>The pair couldn't leave immediately. Link insisted he had to update his Instructor and Headmaster on Ghirahim, and he needed a new sword, shield and his potions restocked. He wouldn't be found without potions on him ever again. He wanted to be able to heal his own broken arms now, thank you very much.<p>

The sword spirit trudged around the floating rock Link called home, in a new pair of baggy brown pants and a tight red jerkin, with gold embroidery around the sleeves and chest. His face was the definition of annoyed and toleration.

"How much longer?" Ghirahim asked—no, the fabulous _Ghirahim_ did not whine. He was not _whining. _

"I need a new sword, Ghirahim!" Link laughed, not at all put off by his friend's obnoxious voice. "Just be grateful the Bazaar even had a shield, they're going like crazy with people going down to the Surface."

Ghirahim huffed. "Like any of them could actually use a shield," he said grumpily, kicking at a stone as they walked towards the Sparring Hall. Link laughed, and Ghirahim couldn't help but smile at the sound.

"Maybe not," the Hero agreed. "But it's better than nothing, I suppose. Here we are. Let me do the talking, Ghirahim, don't terrorize anyone like you did to Peatrice. I'm not sure she'll ever look me in the eye again."

"It's not like she ever did before!" Ghirahim scoffed, sounding offended. "She was rude!"

"That does not give you the right to say the things you did!" Link shot back. "She looked like she was going to pee herself!"

"Good," Ghirahim grumped. "She deserves it. Maybe then she'll stop talking in that horrible, drawling voice. Goddess, just thinking about it sets my teeth on edge."

Link rolled his eyes, but his smile belied him. He entered the Sparring Hall and was greeted with the Knight Commander Eagus. He was jabbing at a crude replica of a Deku Baba on an upright log. Link stopped to watch, and cringed at every time he knew Eagus would have gotten bit by the quick moving plant.

Ghirahim scowled. It was obvious the Knight Commander's inexperience wasn't lost on him.

"Sir?" Link called, trying to get his attention. He knew better than to approach the Knight while he had a sword in his hand. Even though Eagus was a great fighter, he was a little unpredictable with the blade.

"Eh?" The Knight Commander turned around and grinned at the sight of the Surface Hero and the strange, red marked man. "Ah, Link! It seems our strange visitor has awoken! How do you do, Link and…?"

Ghirahim wanted to, for a moment, not reply and make the Knight Commander stutter on, but a sharp jab in his side—courtesy of Link's elbow—urged him to speak. "Ghirahim," he said curtly, crossing his arms. He wasn't good with people.

Eagus didn't seem to notice. "What a strange name," he said. He shrugged, more to himself than anyone, and turned to Link. "What can I do for you two?"

"I need another sword, Sir," Link said. "I lost mine recently and I didn't get the chance to retrieve it before we left."

Eagus sighed and shook his head. "You go through swords quicker than arrows, Link! I'm not made of swords, son!"

"I can pay for it," Link hurried to offer, before the Knight Commander could go into one of his infamous rambles.

That offer seemed to sway the Knight Commander. He chucked and said, "Next time, Link. You can take another one. Be more careful with it, alright?"

Link grinned and nodded gratefully. "Yes, sir," he agreed before hurrying to the back room to pick up another sword. Ghirahim was left to stand there with the strange looking Knight Commander, staring at him.

The Knight Commander broke the silence with a curt, "Can you fight, Ghira-something?"

Ghirahim scowled. "Ghira_him_," he emphasized. "And yes, I've had my fair share of battles."

"With swords?"

"No, with sticks," Ghirahim deadpanned, his icy glare pinning the Knight Commander to the spot. "Of course with blades!"

The Knight Commander strode over and thrust his blade towards him. "Show me," Eagus commanded. "I want to see what you Surface people can do."

Ghirahim scowled. "I assure you," he said, "You will not be able to defeat me."

Eagus grinned at him. "Let me find that out for myself, Ghira-who."

"_Ghirahim,"_ the sword spirit hissed, before snatching the blade from the Skyloftian's hand. "Very well," he snapped. "Let's get this over with quickly, I have things to do."

The Knight Commander grabbed another sword and took a defensive stance. Ghirahim stood tall, sword pointed down, waiting for the Knight to strike first.

"Well?" Eagus asked, waiting for his opponent to take a fighting stance.

"Just go," Ghirahim snapped. Eagus complied and attempted a slow slice towards his legs.

Ghirahim stepped back and evaded the slice with disdain. "Is that all?"

Eagus struck several more times, lunging forward and doing several horizontal, diagonal and vertical cuts in an attempt to break down Ghirahim's guard. Ghirahim evaded every blow, and never lifted up his sword once.

"You'll have to try harder than that," Ghirahim said. "This isn't a dance."

Eagus frowned and aimed a sharp stab towards the strange looking man's gut, but his opponent out stepped it again. With his annoyance growing, Eagus made several harsh strokes and finally felt the bite of steel. The impact of his fast moving blade hitting Ghirahim's jarred his arm.

After a few more disdainful blocks on Ghirahim's part, Eagus heard Link ask, "Why do you enjoy toying with your opponent, Ghirahim?"

"It's fun," Ghirahim defended, stepping out of the way of a hasty vertical strike.

"Well, we do have to get going," Link said. "Why don't you actually try so we can go?"

Ghirahim sighed and before Eagus could even compute what was going on, a shower of blows was rained upon him and he was barely able to stop them. They came from all angles, at startling speeds and painfully jarring strengths. Ghirahim moved fluidly, never faltering or hesitating, driving the Knight Commander back and back until he barely had anymore room to maneuver.

With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, Ghirahim sent Eagus's sword flying out of his hand and towards the other side of the room. Ghirahim's sword flicked up to Eagus's throat. The Knight Commander was breathing heavily, but Ghirahim's breath was smooth and he hadn't shed a single drop of sweat.

"Are we quite finished?" Ghirahim asked, almost politely. The Knight Commander nodded and Ghirahim dropped his blade, and handed it to his defeated opponent. Eagus gasped out, "How did you learn to fight like that?"

Ghirahim, who was halfway towards the door to leave, turned back to the Commander and said, "Years of practice. Perhaps if you actually fight something other than logs you could improve. Your horizontal slices are rather sloppy, if I say so myself." And with that, Ghirahim turned and walked out of the Sparring Hall, with Link at his heels.

* * *

><p><strong>Finally. Wow, that one took long to write. <strong>

**Funny thing, I actually intended the whole arm-healing, sleeping period in one chapter…and they're in two massive different ones. I really do ramble, don't I? Oh well, makes for more chapters and more fun!**

**Anyways, thanks for all the reviews and alerts! I woke up this morning and had a massive 12 emails from less than 8 hours of the last chapter being up…over the night. Seriously, that's amazing! It fueled a great day, let me tell you!**

**Sorry for any typos, too. Or for lack of substance and or plot in these chapters. **

**Now, review responses! (I've got my work cut out for me this time!)**

**increak96—Thanks dear! That's about as close as I'm coming to one until the end. Thanks again! I'm sure you're good; we artists tend to disregard our own artwork for others. Never worry, dear, Ghirahim is strong. Thanks for your review!**

**Spartan13576—I won't, I solemnly swear (that I'm up to no good!). Yes, of course you may! I baked a batch specifically for you. *hands you a cookie* I'm not sure, Groose isn't a big character to this one…but he will come back for later, I promise. I'm writing as fast as I can! You don't have to—oh, too late. Thanks for your review, and I hope you enjoy what I have in store.**

**arrowriver—Thanks! I hope I don't get writer's block, it's a total bitch and it kills me every time. I have this story practically all planned out, it's just the getting it all down quick enough that I have left to do. I hope you enjoy what I've got up my sleeve!**

**petite-neko—Thanks! Jump aboard any time, I don't mind, new reviewers/readers are always a pleasure! I hope you enjoy it, dear! Thanks for reading!**

**vsama—Thanks! Maybe, maybe not, you'll have to read to find out!**

**MrMyshka—Oh, I always enjoy your reviews! Thanks! I would have no objections to you drawing him—I'd like to see your interpretation! If you do, send me a link? Please? And I'm not sure if this counts as nursing Ghirahim back to health, but whatever. And this story could be anywhere from six more chapters to fifteen, it depends on how the pieces fall. I thought this scene with him healing Link's arm and waking up would be one chapter, but it's been two long ones, so I'm not exactly sure. Thanks for the review, and enjoy!**

**Sideways Jill—Thanks dear! I hope you enjoy.**

**Goddess, thanks for all the reviews! I appreciate them. **

**Okay, one thing before I go. I'm debating on whether or not to make this a happy ending or not. I have a plan that could easily make it a kind of happy-satisfying ending, and one that just is plain, unadulterated evil. Tell me in a review for which one you'd like. But I will say: the sad one is, I'd say, a more realistic ending, while the happy is more an AU twist that doesn't make much sense to the timeline but sure makes one smile. **

**Choose wisely, and let me know! Thank you, and see you next time!**

**-Spirit- **


	9. Chapter 9

Crimson was flying towards the Lanayru Desert beacon when Ghirahim finally spoke up. He hadn't said a word since the Sparring Hall, instead opting for silence as they travelled.

"We have to land near the Sea," said the deep voice by his ear. Ghirahim was behind Link, holding onto his waist with both of his hands and his front pressed against Link's back. Link turned slightly towards the voice to hear it over the wind.

"The Sand Sea?"

"No, the other sea in the Lanayru desert," Ghirahim drawled. Link blushed lightly and swatted at the hand holding his waist. Ghirahim bit the tip of Link's ear in retaliation. Link gasped and put his hand over his ear. The bite wasn't harsh enough to draw blood, but certainly enough to make it sting.

"You bit me!" Link cried, struggling to focus on steering Crimson with his cheeks hot and ear stinging. "You_ bit _my ear!"

Ghirahim's voice was very close to his other ear, close enough that Link could feel the hot breath ghosting over it. "Problem?"

Link spluttered indignantly before he huffed and looked resolutely away, nudging Crimson a little to the left so he would circle the breach in the clouds. Ghirahim laughed and Link could feel the vibrations through his body.

Seemingly without prompt, Ghirahim and Link began arranging themselves so they could launch off of Crimson facing and clinging to the other. Ghirahim folded himself around Link in the same manner as before, while Link wrapped his Sailcloth around one hand for ready use.

Link peered over his shoulder and as Crimson banked, he shouted, "Now!" The pair went flinging off the giant bird and freefalling towards the Lanayru desert. Ghirahim cinched his eyes shut and Link cried out in exhilaration as he felt himself fall.

Ghirahim staggered away from their landing sight on shaky legs. Link tucked his sailcloth away and turned up to look at him, then laughed at the sight of his tense face. The sword spirit was holding his stomach and he looked rather shaky all over.

"Not good with heights, Ghirahim?" Link teased.

"Shut it, Sky Child," Ghirahim snapped. Link grinned at the nickname, even though it brought up unpleasant memories.

"Well? You going to vomit so we can get moving?"

Ghirahim glared at him and straightened out his tall form, skin glowing in the intense light and eyes as dark as the opposite night. Link was momentarily breathless at the sight. "I am fine," he insisted. He turned his nose to the horizon and said, "This way." He stalked off towards the beat up docks.

Link smiled and ran after him, looking over the grand expanse of yellow sand before them. The place had an eerie, dead beauty. A reminder of the great civilization that had lived there hundreds of years before now reduced to ruins and sand, to stand guard over the once grand sea.

Ghirahim looked over the vast desert and noticed the deactivated Timeshift stone in a half sand-filled boat with a broken robot creature lying on the dock. He nudged it with his foot when Link spoke. "He helped me get to the Sand Ship," he said. "He's a captain and the Timeshift stone transforms to sand to water around the boat. Is the spring somewhere on the sea's coast?"

A nod was his answer as Ghirahim once again raked his eyes over the blurry horizon. He let his eyes drift shut and focused on the feeling of the energy in his body and around him. Unlike in the Faron Woods and even Eldin, this place was devoid of life energy that was associated with plant life and tiny creatures that skittered about.

Ghirahim felt the energy that focused in Link's body and a faint few flecks around that were tiny insects, but nothing else that was substantial. He extended his focus and tried to sense the energy that would be leftover from the spring, something that would feel like a faint tug. He felt it eventually, and locked onto the feeling as he opened his eyes.

Link was watching him, and Ghirahim silently raised his finger and pointed to the west shore, far out onto the desert.

"We'll need Timeshift stones, then," Link said. "Any ideas?" Another silent hand rose up to the one pointed to the broken boat before them. The Hero looked at him questioningly.

Ghirahim let out a dramatic sigh. "Do I have to spell everything out to you? The spring was over there—" he pointed towards the west shore again, "—and we use this Timeshift stone to revive the spring. If it's not enough, we can find another and overlap them."

Link looked unconvinced. "Overlapping Timeshift stones?"

"I assure you, it works," Ghirahim said dryly.

Link held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Alright," he agreed. "Alright. Should we scavenge for another here? Just in case one's not over there?" He waved in the vague direction of where Ghirahim had pointed.

Ghirahim sighed and waved his hand like he was warding off a fly. "Not a problem," he said in a disregarding kind of tone. "Leave it to me."

The Hero shrugged. "Sure thing," he said. "Shall I resurrect our robot friend?"

Ghirahim scowled. "He's _your _friend."

Link laughed and unsheathed his new sword, before stabbing it at the Timeshift stone on the boat. The blue ring spread out around the boat and halfway down the dock. Ghirahim felt a layer of magic wash over him, like a film of tight clothing or water. He shivered at the feeling and watched with disinterest as Link and the weird robot conversed.

He started to listen to their conversation when he head the robot ask, "Who's that, vrrrm? He doesn't look like you, pho-weep."

Link responded, "That's Ghirahim, Skipper. We need to use your boat again so we can help him. By the way, why aren't you on your ship?"

If it was possible, the robot looked sheepish. "I came out here in case you needed a ride, vrrrm. I am in your debt."

Ghirahim raised his eyebrow at that, and looked at Link, who was blushing like mad. "You don't need to, Skipper, but thank you. You should go to your ship and make sure the Timeshift stone stays on, you can sail all you want then."

"Vroom, I will," Skipper assured. "But for now, vrrrm, where are we sailing now?"

Link smiled and pointed to the west shore. Skipper turned to look and rotated back to Link, his robotic voice grave. "That will be a problem, pho-weep."

"Why?"

"Every sailor on this sea knows never to dock on the west shore," Skipper said. "The place is cursed to all those that land there, vroom."

Ghirahim chimed in. "Finally, something interesting."

Skipper ignored him. "A few of my crew went to dock there many years ago and never returned. We found their boat and a few cogs on the shore when we went to investigate, pho-weep. I won't land there, no how."

Link asked, "Will you at least land near the shore, and we can go on alone?"

"I will, vroom," Skipper agreed grimly, after a long moment.

"Will we be able to use your Timeshift stone, from the boat?" Link asked, knowing he was pressing his luck, but it needed to be done. "We can call it even that way."

Skipper remained silent for a long time, before he finally said, "Very well, pho-weep. All aboard!"

* * *

><p>Ghirahim found out, much to his and Link's surprise, that he loved the sea.<p>

Even if it was only a ring of clear water around the tiny boat, the air turned from the sandy air to the moist, salty air that opened up his lungs and sent a shot of clarity to Ghirahim's mind. The rocking of the boat was lulling, and the sounds of the water splashing and conforming around the boat as they sped over it. Link was at the helm, steering the boat with the wide wheel, while Skipper was behind him and Ghirahim sat at the prow, facing the wind.

Ghirahim watched the water splash by at first, but soon his head tipped back and eyes drifted shut, enjoying the feeling of the boat jumping smoothly under him, the air hitting his face and the water that occasionally splash up and drizzled him with cool droplets. It really was the most enjoyable thing he had encountered in quite some time.

The boat slowed as Link skirted around the rocks jutting from the water, and Ghirahim opened his eyes in favor for leaning over and dipping his fingers into the cool water, letting them skim the surface and create intricate swirling patters in the wake. The water felt like silk rolling around his fingers, and as they sped up the water skipped up behind the pale digits. He extended his arm out and back in, like he was drawing a curved line in the canvas that was the smooth water.

He had never enjoyed the feeling of water as much as he had at that moment.

Ghirahim looked down into the water, seeing the sea bed beneath the clear water, and watched as the seabed sunk down until it was hidden by a deep blue color. He was suddenly seized by an idea that he couldn't pass up, so he sat up straight and said, "Link, stop the boat!"

Link immediately slowed, and the boat rocked back and forth as it recovered. Ghirahim stood and stripped off his shirt, throwing it carelessly onto the deck of the tiny boat, stepped up onto the prow before jumping out and gracefully diving into the water.

The water felt so clean and fresh against his skin, and Ghirahim was immersed in the cool sea from head to toe as he completed the dive. Instead of hearing the wind and the water slapping the hull, he heard nothing but the peaceful, ringing silence that sounded like a beautiful sung note. He heard the deep sound of the boat rocking back and forth behind him.

Ghirahim opened his eyes and saw, with perfect clarity, the water all around him that was abruptly cut off by the sand circling the tiny oasis. He didn't mind, but the sea floor beneath him was far down and the water so cold that it was a sliver of paradise.

The sword spirit pulled his arms from their diving arrow and pulled them to his sides with the hands cupped, propelling him forward and upwards. His feet pointed, he kicked rather gracefully and slid up to the surface. His head broke the water and the silence was broken by his inhale and the dual sounds of the sea and the desert, as well as Link's laugh from behind him. It sounded…relieved and happy.

Ghirahim turned around in the water, treading water easily, and saw Link smiling a smile like none other than Ghirahim had ever seen. He called, "How's the water, Ghirahim?"

Ghirahim called back, "Wonderful!"

Link smiled again before he too stripped off his tunic, undershirt and boots—with his pouch and sword carefully placed on the deck—and jumped off the boat in a much less graceful manner. He just jumped, arms flailing and one hand cinching his nose shut before he went under just in front of Ghirahim. The resulting splash caught Ghirahim in the face, which he only just managed to half-deflect with his arm, and when Link resurfaced with a great intake of breath and another splash, Ghirahim retaliated with a splash of his own.

Link laughed wiping his face, before he shook out his drenched now-brown looking hair, sending tiny droplets in wide arcs that seemed to be aimed at Ghirahim's face. The sword spirit cracked a smile and pushed a wave of water towards Link, who laughed and swam backwards to escape any other attacks.

The two unlikely but strong companions swam in the tiny circle of water, like they were best friends and had grown up together, knowing every fault and every mistake of the other. They swam together like nothing was wrong with the world, and it owed them the happiness they both deserved.

* * *

><p>The sun was low in the sky when Ghirahim and Link tired themselves out. Instead of going back to the boat, Ghirahim swam to the edge of their tiny portion of the sea and hauled himself out of the water, sitting on the sand of the desert with his shins still immersed in the salty water. Link followed suit, but he shook his hair out again and leaned back on his elbows, kicking his legs leisurely though the water.<p>

Ghirahim let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes, focusing on the strange feeling of having his legs in the water, while he was sitting on gritty sand with dead wind on his back and low, soft sunrays on his face. It was a disjointed feeling, like he was in two separate places at once.

Link responded with a sigh of his own, and silence soon settled over them like a comforting blanket. Neither minded its presence, they actually welcomed it. There were no words to describe that feeling, in the middle of the Lanayru Sand Sea after swimming for hours with your one time enemy-turned friend. It was a harmonious situation and balance at that moment.

Ghirahim watched the robot on the boat, noticing that he seemed to be dozing. Or rebooting, or whatever robots do when they 'sleep'. His gaze drifted up to the low sun and the sky, which was turning a hazy orange and pink. He was cataloguing the colors when his companion at his side spoke.

"Do you ever wonder why everything is as it is?"

Ghirahim didn't look across at his companion. "I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, do you ever wonder why Lanayru turned into a desert? Or how Timeshift stones only go into the past, and not the future? Or why sword spirits can even exist? Or why Skyloft hasn't fallen to the surface now that we know it exists, or that the Statue of the Goddess was returned to the Sealed Grounds? Why I was chosen as the Chosen Hero, and why you survived the final battle? Why is everything like this?"

Ghirahim didn't respond for a long time. When he did, his voice was soft sounding, like he was truly contemplating the question. "I think it's as it is because that's the way it was meant to be."

"Now it's your turn to explain."

Ghirahim's red lips curved up in a small smile before he continued. "I think Lanayru turned into a desert because that's what happened. I think there are some things that we can't explain, but just that it was meant to happen. I don't wonder why you're the Chosen Hero, Link. It's not because you're strong or clever or anything like that. It's because you have an unbreakable spirit and a heart the size of this sea. I was taken for a reason, and you saved me for another one. That's what I think."

Link was quiet for a while, basking in the sun, before he said, "What do you mean, you were taken?"

Ghirahim remembered Link had no idea about any of his past. He was still in the dark about everything that had happened to him before. Ghirahim reached forward to trace his fingers across the cool water, and began to explain.

"Well, it started a long time ago when Demise was only a lowly demon…"

* * *

><p><strong>Da nuhhhhh! <strong>_****Read this please, I have a poll for you! Go to the * for the poll.**_

** Okay, I enjoyed writing this one, but I'm not going to ramble. Thank you for reading, sorry for typos, review if you want (they're appreciated), and sorry for not updating last night, I had to do a project for bio and I got a bit too carried away, and by the time I started to write it was 10.**

** **Anyways, I'll talk about the poll mentioned above before I respond to reviews. I did this last chapter, but I ramble too much and the authors note was probably too long for people to bother with. I want your opinions on whether or not this should be a happy ending. I know where this is going now and I have a possible epilogue that would make it happy. But it's a bit far fetched and very AU. I want to know what you guys think. Chose one and tell me in a review!**

** 1. I keep it more realistic and sad**

** OR**

** 2. The epilogue that makes it happy and satisfying, if very AU. More so than it is now.**

** Thanks for your time if you respond. Now, for reviews!**

**Spartan13576****—Thanks, dear! Good to know I'm not the only one like likes a good few cookies. Eh, she was the first person to come to mind and her voice really grates on my nerves. Oh, dear, get well soon!**

**vsama****—Oh yes, I enjoyed writing that. Very much. Well, soon you'll find out, after we actually get to the west shore. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**Royal9000****—Oh, thank you for the long review! I know what you mean, it's almost like you expected it but no one bothered with it before and using it seems like a natural flow. I hope I'm not being ridiculous by overlapping the stones, but I always wondered what would happen. I expect it would either double up or unravel space and time. **

** In all seriousness, I had used Ghirahim's new form, like you said, to reflect his mind. I actually didn't see the connection from the title to the marks, but now that you point it out, it seems I either got very lucky or my subconscious mind saw it, too. **

** You're the only person that hasn't bombarded me by "NO YAOI PLZ PLZ PLZ" or "Make it GHIRALINK!" I appreciate it very much—not that I don't the others, but many of them give me mixed signals and make me tentative to go in either direction. I'm not sure what the majority is, truthfully, so I probably will just keep it asexual, unless we go with the epilogue, in which case a whole different pairing will emerge. **

** I don't mind that you haven't reviewed, I'm glad you shared your (very cohesive, concise, and helpful) thoughts and that you haven't abandoned me yet. I hope you like where I'm going with this, and thank you for the review!**

**arrowriver****—Thanks! I hope that I don't, but if I find myself unable to get over it I'll do that. Thank you for the review, and enjoy!**

**petite-neko****—Thanks! I know that if I don't update regularly (as in daily or every other day) I'll get distracted and stop updating all together. Well, I won't spoil it for you, then! Thank you for answering my poll, you were the only one. The happy ending fits perfectly in with everything I have planned, even the angsty one. It actually explains it in greater detail and makes it not so sad. I might, but I think showing one or the other would be best. Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoy!**

**gwendolyndark****—Thanks! I always imagined Ghira as a clingy type, and a cuddler (is that weird?), and Ghirahim's back story was rather depressing, but I will take your near tears as a compliment (if that's also not weird). Thank you! I hope you enjoy.**

** Goddess, that was a lot of reviews! Thank you, guys! I really appreciate them. Until next time, take my love.**

** -Spirit-**


	10. Chapter 10

Ghirahim tipped his head back after the long explanation, watching a few stars wink into existence in the dark velvet sky. The moon was a waning crescent, looking like someone had reached up, plucked the moon from its perch and taken a bite out of it. The desert was darkening around them, and the water was cooling around Ghirahim's legs.

Link was lying on his back, arms folded behind his head as he also watched the sky. He had been listening to Ghirahim's past with interest, and in a few points, shock and disgust aimed towards Demise. Now that Ghirahim had fallen silent, he watched the same sky and pondered the new information.

Link pulled his arms form behind his head and lifted his torso up by propping himself up on his elbows. He lifted his now dry head and looked over at Ghirahim. His white skin was glowing in the faint moonlight, the red lines like harsh bloodstains that had dried against his skin. Link looked over him, from the rolled up, baggy pants and pale white shins, up his body to the bare, glowing torso and rippling muscles, up his defined chest to his thin neck and agile face. The eyes that were trained up were as black as the sky he was watching, the cupid bow's lips stained red like blood, and the white hair fell around his head like a short, bleached white halo.

Link finally spoke up, after his lengthy observation. "Why didn't you tell me this before? I could have…helped."

Ghirahim's red lips curved up in a small smile, but his black eyes didn't deviate from the stars. The eyes reflected speckles of light, like tiny spots of his once pure and innocent mind breaking through the darkness that still pervaded his being. "There's nothing for you to help me with. It's all behind me, now." Those eyes finally left the sky and turned to Link, looking him in the eye; black meeting an icy, vibrant blue. "I don't have to fear that he'll come back. I'll be long gone by the time he returns in another form." The smile faded away. "And when your spirit is reborn to stop him."

Link watched those black eyes for a long moment before he tilted his head back and watched the darkening sky. The desert around them was nearly black now. "What will that be like?" he asked. "Will I remember all of this? Will I be reborn into another body? A girl's? A man's? What will happen?"

Ghirahim also turned his attention skyward. "I can't pretend to know, Link," he said. "Anything could happen. All I know is that your unbreakable and—" here he turned to give Link both a smirking and rueful smile—"_undefeatable_ spirit will be reborn to vanquish Demise's reincarnation. Over and over again. I doubt you would remember any of your past lives…but anything is possible. I think we're living proof of that."

The Hero smiled but it didn't last long. "I just don't think my spirit could endure draining battles like this one," he said with a sigh. "It's a curse to always fight and always have to kill…how many times can I defeat him and kill before I finally break?"

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," Ghirahim assured. "I believe the benefits far outweigh the sacrifices. Though you give up much…you'll be able to see beauty in places that no one ever bothers to take a second look at, like the sky right now and this long lost sea. Your name will live on forever for the deeds and sacrifices you make for every living thing. Though people may not know about every time you save them, you'll know. Every time you'll come out victorious and every time it's spoken your name will inspire strength and courage into those who hear it."

Link blinked and looked at the sword spirit, who was staring right at him. Link watched his eyes, and thought about his words. He eventually smiled and turned back to the sky. "Maybe it won't be so bad," he conceded. Ghirahim laughed a soft chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest.

"Come on," the Hero finally said, sitting completely up and pushing himself into the water. He bobbed there for a moment or two before he turned and held onto the sand, his shoulders above the water. He smiled at the sword spirit. "Let's go back to the boat. We can't really fall asleep here; I don't want to be caught without my sword within reaching distance."

Ghirahim nodded and also sunk into the water, submerging his head as well, and the two swam to the boat leisurely. Ghirahim jumped out of the water and gripped onto the side, hauling himself bodily over and onto the deck. He stood and looked over, offering a hand to the Hero. Link didn't fail to notice the weight on the gesture, and he smiled at Ghirahim before taking his hand and letting the sword spirit help him up onto the boat.

The pair shook themselves of any excess water before lying down, side by side, on the deck and stretching out, watching the sky as they fell asleep under the half-eaten moon.

* * *

><p>The next morning was blazing hot by the time Ghirahim woke up. He grimaced at the heat and shielded his eyes from the harsh rays. Link was still sprawled out next to him, sleeping contently. Ghirahim sat up and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't felt this well rested in a very long time.<p>

Ghirahim leisurely stretched, kind of like a Remlit, and stood up, easily staying upright with the rocking of the boat as he moved. He felt very natural and free on the water, and on this boat. It was a strange sensation.

Ghirahim would have let Link sleep longer, but the sun was hot and though swimming again had a certain amount of appeal, he didn't want to have to wander through a sandy desert once they landed in wet shorts. He shuddered at the mere thought of it. So Ghirahim went to Link and prodded his bare ribs with his toe.

"Oi, Hero," Ghirahim called, "Wake up. We have to get moving."

The Hero groaned and rolled his head to the other side, stubbornly not getting up. Ghirahim sighed dramatically and prodded him again. "Get up!" When the Hero still didn't wake, Ghirahim's lips curved up in a nasty smile before he reached down and bodily lifted Link up. The Sky Child groaned and his eyes started to flutter open just as Ghirahim tossed him over the side.

Ghirahim laughed heartily at Link's shocked cry just before he went under. He had no time to do more before his entire body went under. The Hero thrashed under the water and came up with an explosive intake of breath. His hair was sticking to his face and his eyes were wide.

_"Ghirahim!" _he shrieked. The aforementioned sword spirit laughed even louder as the Hero was forced to swim to the boat and haul himself over. Now the Hero stood sopping wet before him, glaring daggers with those shockingly blue eyes.

"You are so going to regret that," Link threatened.

"You wouldn't get up," Ghirahim pointed out sweetly.

The Hero huffed and reached up to his hair to wring the water out. He glowered at Ghirahim a moment longer before stomping over to Skipper and the helm. When the robot reawakened and gave the go ahead, Link started steering the boat towards the elusive west shore.

Ghirahim stood at the prow, hands behind his back and smirking like there was no tomorrow. Oh, this was turning out to be a great day.

When Link neared the west shore, Ghirahim focused on the pulling sensation of the residue magic that had once centered at the spring. He pointed the way for the last leg of the journey there. When they journeyed as close as Skipper would let them, both Link and Ghirahim went overboard into the shallow water and waded to the desert that awaited them.

When they reached the desert shore, Link turned back to Skipper and called, "When we find the spring, we'll come back for the Timeshift stone, okay?"

Skipper replied in the affirmative, and Ghirahim started up the shore, peering at the tall rock wall that stood tall before them, stretching all the way around the sand sea. He put his hand to the rocks and traced them through the crevices as he walked down the shore, feeling the magic pulsing in the ancient stone.

Link also followed, keeping his eyes peeled on the ground and in the rocks, the former for loose patches of sand for geysers and the latter for cracks that could be broken with a bomb flower. He stopped when Ghirahim did, his hand resting on a small crack that had branched off a larger one running through the rock wall.

"Here," Ghirahim said. "This was the entrance."

"Did it collapse?"

"Obviously. Get one of your bombs; we're going to need a big bang to get it cleared."

With that, Link offered Ghirahim one of his bombs and the sword spirit placed it precariously on the ground near the crack. With a concentrated looking face, he stood on what used to be the water of the sea and shot three daggers into the wall. They stuck into the rock with a resounding ringing sound, and they were in a straight line from the bomb to the top of the wall.

Link didn't see what Ghirahim was trying to do, but nonetheless covered his ears and backed away when the sword spirit aimed another dagger at the bomb. It blew up instantly, and over the sound of the explosion was the sound of rock cracking. Link looked up to see a giant crack running up from the base of the wall, following the daggers and up to the top. With a shudder, the wall crumbled into itself and fell into a massive heap.

It left a gaping tunnel open towards them. The tunnel had a roof and sloped down in a tiny descent. It was as dark as Ghirahim's eyes. The sword spirit turned to the Hero and smiled. "Lead the way, Hero," he offered with a smile. Link rolled his eyes and climbed over the heap of rock and went into the tunnel. Ghirahim followed, not casting a glance back at Skipper sitting alone on his boat.

* * *

><p>Link blinked his eyes rapidly as he climbed out of the tunnel and into the blazing Lanayru sun. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust, but when the light became bearable he looked around. It was a long clearing, about the size of the rest of the springs, with cracked and weathered pedestals that were practically buried in sand. Directly before him was a Statue of the Goddess, but the emblem beneath her feet was hidden by the sheer amount of sand.<p>

Ghirahim exited the tunnel after him, and blinked only thrice before his eyes adjusted. He looked around and said, "This is it."

The Hero looked around, slightly confused and let down. "Why isn't there a long, pointless and dangerous temple guarding it?"

Ghirahim grinned before he started to explain. "This spring dried up before Demise came to any sort of power," he said. "The Goddess would have no use of it, and made sure all her vital memories could be reawakened with only two of the three springs. But she had to protect the two from drying up or being corrupted, so she had Skyview and the Earth Temple built around them. Here, I think, she just left to whoever would find it."

Link rubbed the back of his neck, squinting in the harsh sun. "Should we go back for the Timeshift stone now?"

The sword spirit waved his hand impatiently. "It will take too long," he said. With a snap of his pale white fingers, he disappeared in a flurry of red and glowing white diamonds.

Several minutes later, there was a distinct ring of teleportation as Ghirahim returned, bearing a giant deactivated Timeshift stone in his arms. He staggered under the weight and carefully set it down. He straightened and brushed his hands together, satisfied.

"Now," he said, "for one more."

"Where are we going to find one?" Link asked, skeptically.

Ghirahim put his hand to the sacred spring's protecting rock walls and closed his eyes. He dragged his palm across the rock for a moment or two before his hand was encased in a protective layer of diamonds. He pulled his arm back and punched it into the rock, the stone shuddering from the force. His arm went straight through the stone like it was nothing, until it was buried into his mid forearm. His muscles on his arm and back clenched and released as he worked his hand around in the stone, and with a victorious smile, he yanked his arm out, holding a fist sized purple stone in his grip.

"Those robots aren't the only ones who can dig up these stones," Ghirahim informed with a satisfied smile. He placed the smaller stone near the larger one. On his cue, Link drew his sword and hit the larger one, waiting until its blue ring had extended over the spring to see if the second was even needed.

The sand covering the place vanished and turned to dried, deep brown dirt and the rock walls looked less aged. There were only a few murky puddles of rancid looking water where the clear and purifying spring should have been. Before Link could strike the second one, Ghirahim knelt down and put his hand on the larger one, encasing it in a layer of flat red and white diamonds.

"So it won't deactivate when the smaller one is," Ghirahim explained as he straightened. Link nodded thoughtfully, realizing he hadn't thought of that, and struck the smaller stone. It's smaller but no less powerful ring spread out, just far enough to reach the Goddess Statue. The murky water turned into the beautiful, familiar clear water of the Sacred Spring.

Ghirahim turned to smile at Link. He hopped the platforms and without hesitation, dropped into the water. The water shivered as he fell completely in and disappeared.

Link was about to sheathe his sword when he heard a chilling chuckle from behind him. It wasn't like Ghirahim's chuckles; it was higher and sharper, like bells ringing.

"Finally," the voice said. "I can't have that traitor interrupting our conversation, now can I?"

Link turned around, sword gripped tight in his hand, and came face to face with his new found enemy, draped in a thick looking black cloak. All that was visible was a pale nose and chin from under the hood, and a sadistic smirk on black lips.

"I think it's about time we have a serious heart to heart, Hero."

* * *

><p><strong>How about that? Finally, the enemy shows themselves!<strong>

**I won't doddle in this author's note, I really have to learn to use my words wisely. Sorry for typos, thanks for reading and reviewing, and leave a review for this chapter if you have the time. They're appreciated! Thanks to those who put their opinion in to the ending of this story, and the question still stands for those who haven't. Look to the last chapter's author's note to see the options.**

**Now, review responses!**

**MrMyshka—It's fine! I do like general friendliness; it's what everyone needs in my opinion. Someone to goof around with and help them with anything they need, you know? And I think you just hit the nail on the head with that description of their relationship—not sexual, but close and unique. I think that's how it's going to stay. It wasn't unclear, I understood it! You're for happy endings, huh? I'll put another tick for that and see where the majority lays, thanks for reviewing and enjoy!**

**vsama—Sorry if I didn't deliver on that front, I have a few flashbacks planned and it was brushed over in, I believe, chapter 3? Yeah, I don't think Ghirahim likes flying much, but imagining him swimming and loving being on a boat was too sweet a concept to pass up. Thanks for your reviews!**

**arrowriver—Indeed!**

**Ellenar Ride—Thanks! I hope you like what I have in store; I don't think anyone sees it coming. Thanks for your review!**

**gwendolyndark—Oh yes, evil on the outside but a cuddler within. Thanks! I'm not sure this counts as epic reaction, but I don't think Link would be too theatric about it. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for the review!**

**Triops Master—I know, right? I wish it allowed us too. Thanks! Very good point. I'm not sure the epilogue would fit in very well, but if I do it just so it could. Thanks for your input and long review (I always love those!) and I hope you enjoy.**

**petite-neko—At least I'm not the only one. *smiles* I hope so, but I do love some angst. Thanks, dear! I hope you enjoy this one and the rest! **

**Thanks for all the reviews, guys! Until next time,**

**-Spirit- **


	11. Chapter 11

Link took a defensive step back, the opposite shoulder jutting forwards as his sword made tiny circles in the air, watching this new enemy's every move. His heart was beating rapidly against his ribcage, and he barely heard the sounds of Ghirahim's purification over the blood pounding in his ears.

Those black lips curved up in a cruel smile. "You really think you can stand your ground against me, Hero? I could prove you wrong, but I need you in your right mind at the moment."

Link kept silent. During battles, he found himself clamming up and never returning the banter. He watched as the enemy laughed a bit, seemingly amused by something he did or didn't do, and asked, "You're wondering why, aren't you? Why I'm here, why I'm following you and that traitorous sword spirit…yes, I know who he is, Hero, don't be stupid! The answer is a simple this: _revenge."_

With that word, the hooded figure reached up their pale hands and drew the hood back. Link gaped at the face that was revealed, taking an involuntary step back. The face was angled, pale and, well, _beautiful._

The once-hooded figure was a woman. That much was obvious; the arched eyebrows, feline red eyes with slits for pupils, long black hair and full black lips. Her cheekbones were high and arched, looking sharp enough to cut flesh. Her eyelashes were long and gave her an exotic look, while her pouting lips looked nearly childish. The strange part about her was the three, black tattooed spikes under each eye, looking like long prongs that jutted from her eyes. Link couldn't believe his _own_ eyes. He hadn't, for one, ever seen such a drop-dead gorgeous woman, and two, he hadn't ever _fought_ such a drop-dead gorgeous woman, let alone any female for that matter.

The woman across from him giggled and it sounded like tinkling bells. "Surprised? Shocked? Oh, Hero, you're simply primeval, thinking women have no place fighting for their cause. Too chivalrous to fight me? Too bad, I have no such concerns. But I'm getting ahead of myself, and I'm being quite impolite." She plucked her cloak on both sides and lifted it up, giving a deep curtsey. Link could make out tight black pants and slivers of pale skin under the dark cloak and a few hints of red before the cloak hid it again.

"My name is Mihra." She uncrossed her ankles and stood straight again, looking both expecting and…_flirtatious._

Link worked his jaw for a moment and tried to unclog his throat before he spoke. His hands were getting sweaty and his mind was hazing over, so he took another step back and furrowed his brow, trying to think. He spoke hoarsely, "My name is Link."

"Oh, I know! You think someone like me wouldn't know _your _name?" She giggled and Link felt his cheeks go hot. "But we haven't much time to talk before your friend there crashes this little party. I have a simple proposition for you. Come away with me, right now, and I'll make sure you're taken care of and that nasty sword spirit won't bother you anymore. No more of these lies and hidden secrets, Link. I'll tell you the truth…what do you say?"

To his dismay, Link actually found himself taking a few steps towards this Mihra before he realized what he was doing and managed to stop his rebellious limbs. He ground his teeth and shook his head, like he was trying to ward away an irksome fly. He hissed in his breath through his teeth, wondering what was happening to him, before he raised a defiant and ice-filled glare to the woman across from him.

"No," he said, his voice catching in his throat, but he forced it out. "I won't go with you. Ghirahim is my _friend._"

Mihra's smile faded. She looked sad and disappointed. "Are you sure, Link? One hundred percent positive?"

"Yes!" The percent remark only reminded him of Fi, and that cut away at the haze that had taken over his mind. Her clear and calculating voice seemed to ring through his mind and he could stand straighter.

Her expression turned from disappointed to angry. "Very well," she hissed, suddenly turning from a harmless looking creature to a furious viper. "You've made your choice. I would have spared you, Hero, but it seems you never know when to give up! I promise to make you suffer, and that traitor too! Both of you will feel my wrath!"

She turned on her toes and her cloak seemed to grow and wind around her for an instant, and with a snapping sound, she disappeared. Link felt the haze lift from his mind and he staggered back, holding his head. What in the Goddess's name happened?

He groggily turned around, noticing that the tell-tale hum of Ghirahim's purification was not ringing throughout the spring. What he saw was a red mass that straightened out and turned to him. For the second time in a span of five minutes, Link gaped at what he saw.

Ghirahim was smirk-smiling with _vivid_ red lips, and his eyes were softer and wiser, despite the black irises that hid his pupils and gave him a rather scary look. His marks were standing out against his skin, tracing down his body to his toes. He wasn't wearing his baggy pants or shirt, but it seemed he was in his true form, because there were no signs of any genitalia or scars that his mortal form had. The only clothing he wore was a sweeping red cape that curled around him and hung from his shoulders, fastened at his throat with a white Triforce brooch.

Link looked up at his friend's face, and somehow picked his jaw up from the ground.

* * *

><p>This purification was much more painful than the other two.<p>

Ghirahim, as he was suspended in the rushing orb was water, felt like he was being burned by the sacred water as it rushed over every inch of his skin. His eyes opened and his head tipped back, hands and toes stretching out, and his lips opened in a silent scream.

The other two purifications were not this painful. The first, at Skyview, almost felt ticklish, and Eldin felt mildly uncomfortable—like sand rubbing against his skin. But this one felt like lava, burning and eating away at his fragile flesh and leaving nothing untouched.

Ghirahim wanted it to end. He felt like he was tumbling over and over, while his senses were disoriented and practically shut down; his sense of up and down tilted and skewed. The pain was everywhere, in every part of his body, inside and out. He screamed despite himself and felt the water burn his throat.

This was unlike any torture he had endured by Demise's hands. His tortures were of brute force and humiliation, leaving marks and sharp pains, but never anything like this. This was fire, eating away at him, with no sense of mercy or kindness.

Ghirahim was reminded of himself.

An eternity later, it seemed, Ghirahim felt the water lose its shape and he was carelessly dropped onto the stone. He hit it hard, on his side, and his head hit the stone, making a resounding crack reverberate through his skull. He gasped and clawed at the stone, trying to find his grounding. All his senses were in disarray, his vision was swimming, and every nerve ending was overloaded with pain, making it impossible to move without feeling pain _somewhere_; his nose was filled with the smell of burnt umber, while his tongue had a coating of copper blood, and his ears were ringing for some reason.

Ghirahim gasped and forced himself to move, only after the world stopped tilting and his vision stopped shaking. He pulled himself to his knees and winced at the feeling of his skin pulling uncomfortably around his knees and stretching across his white thighs. It didn't register that the baggy pants he had worn were gone, and that a heavy fabric was draped over his shoulders and down his back. He felt his head, astounded that he wasn't bleeding from the injury he sustained when he hit his head on the stone.

He groaned to himself and leaned over to the water to inspect his new face. The face that stared back at him was both familiar and alien, looking confused and weak but regal. His eyes were still as black as night, unable to be cleansed of the darkness, but his lips were bright red and the marks were more pronounced, while the red ruby in his forehead was glowing with power. He was happy to see a curtain of hair fall from the top of his head and sweep in front of his eyes.

It wasn't as long as his former hair had been, but it was long enough to drape across both of his eyes. He stuck his chin out and blew at the hair, smiling when a few strands lifted and danced before falling back into place. He reached up and tucked one side behind his good ear, then felt back for the other. He was _delighted_ to feel, not a mangled disfigurement, but a proud and pointed ear. That ear had always been a reminder of Demise's cruelty, because during a particularly long and rough night, Demise had bit most of it off. Ghirahim had cut off the rest, to hide it under his hair, to never have to look at it.

Now that it was restored, he felt surprisingly light. But maybe that feeling was also because he felt the red ruby in his chest—also restored to its former glory—and knew he was back in his true form. Ghirahim smiled, noting the expression, when not filled with sadistic promises or cruelty, looked rather well on his face. He felt eyes on him and flexed his toes before he stood and straightened his spine; oh, how good this felt! Ghirahim turned, displaying his new body proudly. Link, who he noticed looked both spooked and worn out, dropped his jaw at the sight of him and Ghirahim felt a glow of warmth in his chest.

He smiled and spoke words that he didn't know Link would hear, in another life. "What? Say something! Am I so beautiful you've no words left?"

Link actually cracked a grin at the words, and responded, sounding tired but amused, "Yes, Ghirahim," he said dryly. "I just couldn't speak past the aura of gorgeousness you radiate."

Ghirahim laughed a bit and raised himself onto his toes on his right foot before he jumped up and spiraled in the air, settling for hovering a foot off the stone, toes down and one knee bent. He looked at Link, whose amused expression had faded to a confused one.

"What is it?" Ghirahim asked. He hovered over towards Link, seemingly more comfortable doing so than returning to the ground and walking.

"I think I just met our enemy," Link said.

"Who was it?" Ghirahim was starting to get annoyed at having to ask so many questions to get the Hero to give him a straight answer.

"She said her name was Mihra. She appeared just after—"

Ghirahim stopped dead and actually fell to the second stone platform beneath him, landing on his feet but looking shocked and horrified. "Did you say _Mihra?_" At Link's nod, he continued, "What did she look like? Tell me!"

Link stuttered for a moment before he could formulate a sentence. "Ah, she was tall, black hair, red eyes, and these weird marks under her eyes—they kind of looked like prongs. Do you know her?"

The sword spirit closed his lips and they thinned to a dangerous line. "Oh, I know her," he said shortly. "I was under the impression she had died a long time ago. Seeing that she's alive raises many concerns and a lot of bad blood. She's a demon, a Temptation Demon to be exact. She can use a power called temptation in her voice to lure mortals and enter anyone's mind. With the right person, she can practically possess them. She was Demise's most faithful follower…she must have somehow gotten back to the Demon Realm before it was sealed off."

"What do you mean bad blood?" Link questioned, almost hysterically. "And Temptation Demon?"

"I already went over this, Hero," Ghirahim said shortly, jumping the rest of the platforms to stand in front of him. His cloak settled neatly behind him when he stopped. "She can control anyone's mind if she talks enough. Her looks help, too—beautiful, to entice men to listen to her. She wanted nothing more than to be Demise's consort."

Link was perplexed. Who wouldn't have wanted such a woman to be their consort, or mistress? He asked, "Who was, then? I mean, who was her competition?"

Ghirahim looked at him like he couldn't quite believe him, or like Link was the stupidest person in the world. "I was, Hero," he said, curtly, like it was a still fresh wound. Link's eyes widened at the revelation. In Ghirahim's explanation of his past, he had glossed over the torture, but never mentioned anything like..._that._

"I-uh—"

"Oh, stop stuttering," Ghirahim snapped. "Long story short, Mihra and I had several confrontations and much blood spilt over the issue. The wounds are still raw for her, I suppose. She wants to destroy me for betraying her object of obsessive affection, and probably for the fact that I survived while he did not. You did not aid her in her mission, so now you're her enemy, too."

Link gulped. He realized he had nearly betrayed himself and Ghirahim by stepping towards her because the demon had a hold over his mind—with this so called Temptation. He must have thrown it off somehow. But he wasn't sure if he could do it again.

"Can you resist her voice, Ghirahim?" Link blurted, and then blushed at how vulgar it sounded. He was about to reword his question when Ghirahim responded.

"Of course not," he said. "No one can. All you can do to resist it is focus on a certain ideal or thing and hope for the best that you can make her shut up. Come on, we need to leave this place…I feel her energy lingering. It's giving me the chills."

* * *

><p><strong>Phew. How 'bout that? I'd like some feedback on Mihra, I feel like I'm taking a huge risk here creating her. Anyways, she'll be back. *knowing grin*<strong>

**I liked writing this chapter, just saying. I had fun, perhaps a bit too much…and I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist throwing a Midna quote in there—and somehow I feel Mihra's name resembles hers, but I didn't mean it like that and I can't actually think of another one that fits. **

**Anywho, the norm: sorry for types, thanks for reviewing and reading, and reviews are appreciated! To my lovely reviewers:**

**gwendolydark—Oh, you got it! Woman indeed! Sorry, I can't take hints that well, they usually have to be spelled out to me before I set my sights on a certain path. *sheepish grin* Hope you like it anyways, dearie. Thanks!**

**vsama—Unfortunately not. I was, after reading your review, thinking about switching Mihra to a Twili, but it didn't seem to fit…this isn't when the Twili are strong, and I don't think they would have followed a tyrant like Demise, but that's just me. Hope you enjoy!**

**Royal9000—Oh, thank you! Why, maybe so! I won't spoil but your deductions are rather close but a bit misled in a few places (such as being revived, Mihra wasn't hanging around as dust there) , but I'm impressed! I suppose that's a good thing, I don't want to fall behind. *smiles* Thanks for your review, dear, and I'll try to keep the chapters a coming.**

**petite-neko—Thank you! I hope I reached your expectations, I enjoyed writing Mihra, and I hope you like her, too. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Again, thanks for the reviews, guys, and I hope you like what I have in store. Until next time, watch your back.**

**-Spirit-**


	12. Chapter 12

That night, Ghirahim dreamt.

_He was in Demise's court, a familiar place he despised, and he was in his normal spot, to the right and down a step from Demise's throne. Demise was the all ruling demon king at this stage, with Ghirahim to help further his power with his indestructible and powerful blade. Demise ruled over the Demon Realm and every demon residing in it. _

_Ghirahim watched the long, tall court with the strange shifting shadows that were demons hiding from physical view, and the demons that were standing in the court, talking in their demonic tongues. As he looked, he felt the dull throb of his left ear irritate his headache. It had been several nights since _that_ incident, but even so, Ghirahim intended to be on his best behavior for the foreseeable future, as to not goad the rage that had spurred Demise then._

_Even after being Demise's slave for over ten years at this point, not having Demise in his immediate line of vision made chills crawl up his spine. He fought the urge to stiffen, shift on his feet, and even glance to his left, because it was a tell-tale sign he was anxious and that that anxiousness was caused by his master._

_However, his eyes did flick to the shadows before him when they pulled away and up, forming into a body and that colored quickly to a shapely woman's pale skin and dark clothes. Mihra was young—barely one hundred—and she wore clothes that showed off her long legs and toned midsection. Her hair was unbraided and tumbling down her back, while under her eyes were the fresh marks of a fully fledged demon—in her case, the three spikes under each eye. _

_Ghirahim kept a straight face as she approached swinging her hips and the half-skirt she wore. It was open in the front and a deep red color, while it cascaded behind her and swung in times with her hips. Her pants were slit in the three spike way, and clung to her legs. Her shirt was black and cupped her chest in what was supposed to be a provocative manner, but Ghirahim didn't know—he was never good with knowing what was supposedly attractive and not, being a sword spirit and all._

_She approached Demise and picking up one side of her strange skirt, she dipped low in a deep curtsey, showing great respect and loyalty to him. Demise, in return, merely nodded, watching her with his fiery eyes. Mihra batted her long eyelashes and spoke with a seductive trill in her voice. "My King," she purred. "I have journeyed to your grand court to volunteer myself as your Mistress. If you will have me, I, Mihra Vikinane, will gladly hand myself over to you."_

_Ghirahim felt himself stiffen, not with jealousy or anger, but with fear—would Demise shatter him as to give room for Mihra, or would he toss him away and lock him away in his sword? He glanced back to his Master and saw that he was smiling, and it rapidly turned into a smirk. Demise lifted one of his massive hands and gestured to Ghirahim as spoke in his deep voice. "As you can see, Mihra Vikinane, I have a consort. _But,_" he stopped her look of instant disappointment with a raised hand, "I believe that, if you are steadfast in your quest to become my courtesan, then you may challenge Ghirahim's position in a battle."_

_Mihra wasted no time in turning on her heel and staring Ghirahim in the eye. "I challenge you, Ghirahim, to combat for the position as His Majesty's courtesan!"_

_Ghirahim sighed. He really was in no state to fight—he was aching all over and he had barely slept the past five nights, thanks to pesky demonic nobles who were thorns in Demise's sides—and fighting for a position he really _didn't_ want in the first place irked him beyond anything. He looked at his Master, who had leaned to one arm of his grand throne, chin propped up on his hand. His Master waved him forward, an expecting look on his ugly, scaly face._

_Ghirahim sighed once more, snapping his fingers so the red cape disintegrated from his shoulders. He walked down the steps towards the girl, tugging off his black gloves. His outfit was much of the same as his white one that he wore in the future, but black because Demise preferred black against his grey skin. He stood in front of Mihra, a customary ten paces away, and let her circle him._

_"You like the Demon Realm, spirit?"_

_Ghirahim didn't reply—he felt the Temptation in her voice and realized he needed to incapacitate that ability so he had a fighting chance. _

_"You don't belong here," she spat as she circled him, licking her black lips. "You're a dog of the Goddess—trash, really, and you certainly don't belong at the foot of the King's bed! If only you'd just give up and stop any shame that will befall you if you continue to futilely resist…"_

_Mihra had circled back in front of him, closer now, but she needed to be closer…his mind was starting to drift, he needed to stop her Temptation soon, as he could feel his thoughts becoming hazy at each word._

_"It's too bad that you're such scum," Mihra continued. "You're really not that bad looking. I guess the Goddess knew what she was doing when she created you, huh? A chew toy at best. You don't belong in the Demon Realm; you're too thin-skinned for us. You really ought to just bow down now, save yourself the humiliation."_

_Before he was too far lost in her lulling voice, Ghirahim lunged forward unexpectedly with a fist aimed to her side. She managed to dodge it but realized too late that it was a feint and Ghirahim landed a hard blow to her jaw, dislocating it at the very least._

_The girl staggered back, holding her mouth. She glared at him and spat out a glob of black demon blood and lunged at him. The fight really began, then._

_There was no more circling or feinting. Mihra lunged at him, faster than light, and tackled him to the ground. They were equal opponents, if skilled in different areas—Mihra had stronger legs and longer nails, while Ghirahim had more arm strength and sharper teeth. No magic was used, but the fight was viscous—demons from the shadows materialized to watch them tussle on the cold, stone floor of Demise's court. _

_Both of them lost track of time, and the battle seemed to drag on for ages—just hair pulling, biting, fast punches and cheap kicks. Eventually, both of the opponents were losing strength and Ghirahim knew he needed to end this quickly. He hurriedly thought of a plan and put it into action._

_Ghirahim managed to sink his teeth into her forearm while holding the other wrist down—he was sprawled out on top of her, having managed to flip them—and bit as hard as he could. She cried out and ripped her arm from his mouth and grabbed his hair, dragging him to the ground._

_The demon sword hissed and his head hit the ground hard as she reversed their positions, straddling his waist and using the grip on his hair as leverage to keep him down. Ghirahim twisted his head free, leaving a clump of white hair in her grip, and lunged up to bite her exposed bicep. She screeched out as his pointed teeth sunk into her flesh, and she tried to rip away, but his bite was too strong._

_Ghirahim gasped out when Mihra pulled her arm back, out of his grip, and slammed her elbow into his face. It was a hard enough blow to make his head ricochet to the side and against the stone. He opened his eyes just in time to feel Mihra pull his head up by his hair and slam it back down into the stone. His eyes rolled back, mouth lolled open, and he lay still. A trickle of crimson blood trickled from under his head, staining his tussled white hair._

_Mihra grinned triumphantly and stood off the still form of her opponent and turned to Demise, who was still watching them with interest. She came forward and sunk to her knee, bowing her head deeply, ignoring the pains in the bite wounds and aching bruises that would no doubt form in a couple of hours. _

_"My King," she said, trying not to wince at how hoarse her beautiful voice sounded—her jaw really hurt when she spoke. "I have defeated your courtesan. If you will recognize me as victor, I will gladly—"_

_She never got to offer, because suddenly a body was slammed into her from behind and an arm wrapped around her neck. Another arm reached across her face and sharp nails dug into the side of her face, like it was a mask her assailant could rip off. Ghirahim yanked his arms back, feet firmly planted in the ground, as he choked her and held her fast._

_He grunted as she thrashed for a moment, but his nails dug deeper and she stilled. "If you don't yield," he growled, "I will rip off this pretty little face of yours. What use will your voice be if no man could stand the sight of you?" His voice was harsh and mocking in her ear, and she knew he was not bluffing._

_Demise watched the confrontation with a smirk. He wasn't naïve enough to believe Ghirahim had done such an underhanded, _dirty_ trick so he would remain as Demise's toy. Oh, no, the sword spirit was taking this fight personally, and his pride—the only thing he had left—was on the line. He would have done anything to come out victorious, and Demise knew he had truly brought the former pure spirit down from his high perch._

_Mihra gasped, gripping Ghirahim's sweaty arm with her nails, trying to rapidly think of an escape route. But with his arm wrapped around her throat, she was unable to speak, and with the nails threatening to rip off her beautiful face, she was given very little time to try and weasel out of her predicament._

_"If you don't yield in five seconds," Ghirahim warned, breathing harshly, "I will not hesitate to ruin those brand new demon marks under your eyes. I will peel them from your flesh one by one, and then destroy this pretty face of yours. Five…four…three…two…_one…"

_"I yield!" Mihra cried as Ghirahim's nails had started to drag from where they were embedded in her temple towards her cheek. "I _yield_!"_

_Ghirahim growled, "Good choice," and threw her to the ground at his feet. Instead of stepping over her, he reached down and grabbed the top of her head with her long hair, lifted her head up and slammed it back down onto the stone. _

_"Just returning the favor," he hissed at her unconscious face. He spat blood on her pathetic form and stepped over her, returning to his former position, staring resolutely forward. He ignored Demise's pleased expression, and the feeling of his hot blood trickling down his neck. _

_At least his ear wasn't hurting anymore._

Ghirahim gasped as he shot straight up, frantically looking around to see where Demise and Mihra were. He was met with the sight of a wall to his right and a comfortable looking room, in which he was sitting on what looked like the only bed. Ghirahim blinked, not recognizing the place at the moment, and reached back to rub his neck.

He expected it, for a moment, to come back bloody from the wound on the back of his head. When it came back clean and dry, he remembered that wound had healed many, many years ago, and that he was safe. Demise was dead. Ghirahim was free.

With his panic abating, Ghirahim looked around to investigate his surroundings. He realized it was Link's room, in Skyloft. It came back to him, then—he remembered journeying across the Sand Sea in no mood for a swim, clinging to Link as they flew on that damned bird of his and arguing with the Hero about who would sleep on the floor. He had obvious lost, because he heard Link's content snores from below.

Ghirahim looked down to the floor, and sure enough, the Hero was lying all bundled up in blankets, sleeping close to the edge of his bed. With a twinge of guilt, Ghirahim felt how cold it was, and without a second thought, the sword spirit gathered the pillow he was using and the blankets covering the bed, and climbed out. He tiptoed around Link and spread the blanket out beside him, and nestled onto the unforgiving floor next to the Hero.

With a sighed, Ghirahim turned towards the radiating heat that was Link's body, closed his eyes and slept.

He didn't dream.

* * *

><p><em>Link didn't know where he was. It was a strange place, black in every direction, reminding him of the first time he saw Fi and the Imprisoned. He found himself looking around for any kind of landmark or shape in the dense darkness.<em>

_A few moments later, the darkness abated to show a large, round room, with the curved walls covered in etched drawings of varying topics and styles. In front of him stood a rather humanoid statue of who he guessed was the Goddess. Her hands were out, looking like she was holding a handle in each, but her hands were empty._

_Link looked around him, noticing the etched stone of drawings and the ornate floor below him. He started towards the statue, but halted when its head rolled back and forth, like it was working a kink out._

_The statue seemed to blink its unseeing eyes, and its hands uncurled. It reached back behind its own back, like Link did when he reached for his sword, and gripped something over its left shoulder. A handle materialized in its grip, the hilt bright red, and the goddess statue unsheathed a once invisible sword from a nonexistent sheath on its back._

_The statue presented the sword to Link's eyes, a thin, glowing white blade with lines of red running along its length. A shiver of recognition ran through Link's body at the sight of the blade, but before he had a chance to comprehend it the statue cranked both of its arms back, holding the hilt with both stone hands, and threw the sword at him._

_The sword sped towards him, tip aiming for his heart. He had no time to evade or dodge the attack. He only had a moment to brace himself for the pain—_

Link awake with a cry. He shot up, blankets flinging off of him. He gasped for breath and felt his chest, feeling no blood or sword but a pounding heart underneath his fingers. His nails dug into his chest with relief and he let out a sigh, still struggling to calm his breathing.

_Just a dream,_ he chanted in his mind. _Just a dream._

What did it mean, though? A strange room, a moving statue of the Goddess, and what he assumed was Ghirahim's purified blade—that was thrown for a killing stroke at him? Was this a premonition, or something that would lead him to Ghirahim's blade, like his dreams had led him to Fi?

Was the blade being thrown at him just a way to wake him up, or did it mean something? Link didn't know. Just then, a hand on his elbow made him turn and see Ghirahim's black eyes looking at him, groggily.

"Nightmare?" was what he said first. Link nodded wordlessly.

"Me too," Ghirahim admitted. "Seems like we can't do anything unscathed, huh?"

Link agreed by nodding his head, his tongue too dry to speak. His heart was finally starting to slow.

"Might as well try to sleep," Ghirahim continued. "It's quite a ways till dawn."

The Hero nodded, not even questioning why Ghirahim was on the floor with him. Link tugged his blankets back up, turned on his side so he faced Ghirahim, and watched the sword spirit fall into sleep beside him before he too closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, that was a long one. Sorry if the second dream sequence seemed crammed or rushed, I wasn't sure if it was better here or in the next chapter, but I think it flows better here. Okay, sorry for rambling, like usual. Thank you all for reviewing, sorry for any typos, and leave a review if you want—they're appreciated.<strong>

**An explanation for Ghirahim's dream:**

**The whole point of the first nightmare was to show how Mihra and Ghirahim met and one of their many "confrontations" about being Demise's consort/lover/courtesan. (I can't figure out the right word to use, so bare with me.) Also it was to show a sliver of how Ghirahim's life was in the Demon Realm. I think this chapter might seem a bit redundant and pointless, but I needed it to set up the next parts of the story. (I also kind of like beating up on Ghirahim/Mihra shhh)**

**Anyways, let me get on to the review responses! I do love this part.**

**Spartan13576—Oh, dear, you're very accident prone, aren't you? Fi doesn't have much more of a role here, sorry love. But I hope you resurrect yourself again and enjoy what I have in store nevertheless. Thanks for your review!**

**vsama—I would too, dear! Actually, a few people have requested to do fanart of Ghirahim's final form, so I'll make sure to post the links on here when they're finished. I don't imagine Ghirahim's blade like a replica of the Master Sword, but a thinner, more saber-like blade. Thanks, dear, and thank you for the faithful reviews!**

**arrowriver—I've never been a fan of OCs, personally. They're too much work and people never like them anyways. But thanks for the advice on them, I really am journeying into unknown territory with Mihra here. I intended for it to be a bit of a surprise, and to kind of break the typical male-enemy mold. I'll try (to keep a plot twist but not to wring it out), and thanks for your reviews!**

**henslight—I've never heard of that, perhaps I'll look it up. *smiles* Thanks for reading, dear!**

**gwendolyndark—Thanks! Don't worry, when I get hyper I'm like that too! Thanks again, I'm glad you like it this much! Thanks for your reviews, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Huge8leep—I know, right? I was bawling about Midna at the end…but I couldn't resist. Sorry that I broke your heart a bit! Thanks dear! What's life without a little risk, yeah? To your request: Yes, yes and YES! I would adore to see how you see Ghirahim and or Mihra, and I'm positive you're a better artist than I am, and I would die to see your interpretation of him! If you have a deviantart, mine is Spiritoftherose, and if not, just PM me! Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Phew! Thanks for the reviews, guys, you make my fingers hurt, but it's a good kind of hurt. *smiles* Happy Valentines Day! Tomorrow's my birthday, so I might not update—you know, with family coming over and all that—but I promise I'll be back as soon as I can.**

**Until next time,**

**-Spirit-**


	13. Chapter 13

The morning didn't come silently. Well, in the early morning when the sun was just rising, the tiny town of Skyloft was just waking and stretching, a quiet and peaceful time. But when the sun had just lifted itself off the horizon, the Hero and the spirit were woken by a loud, shouting, red-haired morning.

"Link!" boomed the voice, and the door to the Hero's room was nearly kicked open. "Zelda wants you to—" the voice abruptly stopped.

Ghirahim blinked his eyes open, untangling his upper body from his blankets and sitting up, propping himself up with one hand back on the floor. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the red-haired Skyloftian that had barged into Link's room. Who was staring, open mouthed at the two of them, both of which were still lying on the floor.

"Yes?" Ghirahim snapped drowsily. Beside him, Link stirred and groaned, stretching his back like Remlit before he rubbed his eyes and sat up. He looked at Groose with confusion.

"Groose?" the Hero asked, sleepily. "What is it? Did you say something about Zelda?"

Groose managed to pick his jaw off the floor, but he didn't answer Link's question. He pointed at Ghirahim and asked, rather loudly, "Who is he?"

Ghirahim smiled, unpleasantly. "Forget me already?"

"It _is _you!" the boy shouted. "Why are you here? And why are you two…two…sleeping together…!"

Link blushed from his neck up to the roots of his hair, and was quick to explain. "Groose, it's not…like _that,"_ Link said, keeping his eyes off of Ghirahim, who looked slightly confused at the whole thing. "We came back from the Surface and we must have fallen asleep on the floor. It's nothing, Groose, seriously."

Groose clamped his mouth shut and glared with his beady, yellow eyes to the confused looking sword spirit.

Ghirahim, ignoring the glare, stood and stretched leisurely, enjoying himself and flaunting his new body at the same time. It seemed he was proud of the markings all over his body and his very, _very _long legs. He fixed his cape on his shoulders and offered a hand down to Link, just to miff the other boy. Groose glared when Link accepted the help and stood, without a nightshirt but his baggy pants from the day before.

Link, trying to ignore the tension and dislike growing in the room, started to collect the assorted blankets and pillows on the floor, rearranging them on his bed. He snagged an undershirt and his chainmail, slipping them on accordingly and then his signature green tunic. He adjusted the sword's sheath strap over his chest and finally was forced to look back to the other two males in the room.

Ghirahim was lazily floating in the air, playing with the hem of his cape, giving the other boy still standing in the doorway an occasional smirk and purposefully licking his vivid red lips whenever he knew he was looking. It was obviously aggravating Groose.

"So, Groose," Link finally said, making the red-haired boy look away from Ghirahim. "Why are you here?"

Groose crossed his arms and leaned on one leg, his left hip sticking out. "Zelda wanted me to get you and see if you finished whatever mumbo-jumbo you're doing with him," he jerked his thumb to Ghirahim as he spoke the final word. "And tell you that whenever you are you should get back to the Surface. Apparently she has some new info for you."

Link smiled. "Thanks, Groose," he said sincerely. Who knew, right? "Ghirahim and I will go down as soon as we're ready."

Ghirahim spoke up before Groose could. "We are not riding that infernal bird of yours again," he said, picking an infinitesimal piece of dirt from under his perfectly rounded fingernails.

Link turned to Ghirahim immediately, and Groose was spectator to another one of their reoccurring arguments. "We _are not_ teleporting!"

"I am not riding that bird, nor am I ever jumping from that creature ever again," Ghirahim said, firmly, lifting his black eyes to glare at Link.

"What's got you in a bad mood today?" Link asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"I'm _not_ in a bad mood," Ghirahim snapped. "And I'm not riding your infernal Loftwing!"

"You are in such a bad mood," Link said, more to himself, like he was affirming a suspicion.

"I am not!"

"You are!"

"Am _not!"_

"_Are too!"_

"Oh, by the Goddess!" Groose yelled, cutting off the squabbling couple. "Just shut up!"

Ghirahim rounded on Groose now, black eyes sparkling with anger. He was most definitely _not_ in a bad mood. "Stay out of this!"

"You two are acting like children!" Groose retorted, not backing down in the slightest. "Just get over it and get to Zelda! Goddess, you two are ridiculous!" Without bothering to hear Ghirahim's response, he turned and lumbered away, slamming the door behind him.

Ghirahim glowered at the door before turning to Link. He looked sheepish. "Sorry, Ghirahim," he said, meeting Ghirahim's still angry eyes. "Look, why don't you teleport and I'll meet you down there, okay?"

Without a word, Ghirahim snapped his fingers and disappeared in those signature red and white diamonds, leaving Link alone.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim <em>was not in a bad mood.<em> No. He was not. He was in_ furious _mood. He was disgusted with everything and everyone. It seemed his purification did nothing to stop the attacks of great anger he suffered. He was sitting in a tree on the outskirts of the Faron Woods, fuming like nobody's business. He was outside of the boundaries that Link and the other Skyloftians traveled through.

Ghirahim ran his hands haphazardly through his hair and growled. He didn't know why he was in such a petty, furious mood, but the anger was boiling through his veins with his magic and making his pulse race. He supposed it might have to do with the reappearance of Mihra and the endless amount of bad memories that it exposed.

He shuddered at the many of the memories, and he felt the ghosts of a myriad of wounds over his flesh. Forcing the memories away, Ghirahim concentrated on the feeling of the bark beneath his fingers and the wind against his face. His cape fluttered in the breeze, lifting behind him and he felt the tug against his shoulders, the cape wanting to pull him with it.

With a deep intake of breath, he successfully locked away the memories deep within his mind but that did nothing for the anger. Unable to contain it any longer, Ghirahim jumped off the tree and landed, hovering above the ground. He turned away from the explored parts of Faron Woods and went speeding in the other direction. He wasn't running, but his feet were pointed to the ground, one knee bent, his body forward and head in the wind. It was a satisfying way of traveling.

He evaded the thick, dark trees all around him, easily jumping over streams and ditches and fallen tree trunks that blocked his path. The forest sped by, and he didn't bother to try and take in his surroundings—all he was aware of was what was directly in front of him and beneath his hovering feet. His cape snapped behind him, a red tail in the dark forest. Ghirahim didn't know where he was going, exactly, but this anger was so volatile and potent that he was actually afraid to return to Link and Hylia with it still boiling inside of him.

That was a new feeling, wasn't it? Ghirahim mused on the feeling of not wanting to scare or hurt the Hero or the Goddess in a fit of anger that was more than likely to erupt if he returned. Was it because he cared for Link? Cared for his mental equilibrium? As he thought, Ghirahim nimbly jumped over a thick river, around a particularly tall tree and through a screen of vines, leaves and brambles.

Only to stop dead at what he saw.

An overgrown but still visible clearing stood before him. There were tall trees with their branches dipping down, overgrown and uncut bushes in uniform positions, a winding stream that cut through the place and a few light toned boulders jutting out from under a film of grass and weeds.

Ghirahim actually fell to the ground, staggering on his feet, as he looked around the place. If he could wipe away the years and years of neglect, cut the trees down to half their size and the bushes to hip level, the clearing would be in perfect unity. The trees would be growing but manageable, the bushes in orderly hedge shaped walls in a circling way around a pretty fountain in the middle of it all.

The dumbfounded sword spirit could barely make out the broken stone arm of the fountain amidst twisting vines and weeds. This clearing…it was so _familiar…_

Ghirahim took a step forward into the garden he once used to play in, all anger forgotten, and he remembered.

**That. Oh, mercy, that was horrible and short and ridiculous. I'm so sorry if this is not up to usual par or anything, but I can't concentrate right now and I really am having a bad day (kind of like Ghirahim, inspiration much?) so this is all I'm cranking out. Sorry, tomorrow's chapter is a killer. I've been dying to write it for ages. It's a flashback, just a warning/hint.**

**Okay. No more rambling about me. A cool piece of news! Ba da da dumm! A beautiful piece of fanart has been drawn by our resident Huge8leep! Here's the link, just take the spaces out:**

**http:/ spiritoftherose. deviantart. com/#/d4pv92a**

**Go look. Go. You will not regret.**

**Anyways, review responses now! **

**Spartan13576—Oh…dear! *arms up in surrender* I assure you, no stopping here. No, no. Absolutely no stopping. Nuh uh. Mihra is coming, love! Oh, it seems you've died again. This just isn't your day, is it? Thanks for your review, and I hope you can get resurrected (again).**

**vsama—I love sabers, personally. :L You too, dear!**

**petite-neko—I suppose that's a good thing? :L Thank you, dear! I liked writing it. Always fun. Never fails. I hope you enjoy (though I won't blame you if you don't, believe me) and thanks for the review!**

**Chaotic Memory—Why, thank you! I didn't know what I was doing in the beginning, but nevertheless, thank you for your review! I liked writing the dream scene, Demise's Demon Court intrigues me more than it should. I hope you enjoy! (Though I really, truthfully won't blame you if you don't.)**

**henslight—Yes…I realized that a little too late. Oops? :3 I think so, dear. I think so. Thanks for your review, and I hope you (but don't blame you if you don't) enjoy. **

**arrowriver—Yes, indeed! :L**

**Sideways Jill (both reviews)—Oh yes! I couldn't resist…I love Midna. Thanks, I hope she does! Thank you for the reviews! I do think Demise would have a kingdom, being the Demon King and all. He has to have subjects and some kind of rule—probably tyranny—to be a King, you know? :L Thank you!**

**Thank you all for the reviews! I love to read and respond to them, you all really have great thoughts and advice! I'm sorry for the shortness/lameness of this chapter, and for any typos.**

**Goodbye, for now.**

**-Spirit-**


	14. Chapter 14

_Ghirahim stood in a beautiful, thriving garden many years in the past. There were people laughing and milling throughout the expansive garden, talking and exchanging pleasantries. It was a calm, peaceful place under a pale blue sky with white wispy clouds. The air was soft and warm, like a comforting, motherly hug._

_Before him, a young boy burst from the bushes and ran across the stone walkway through the garden, his bare feet hitting the stone with a soft thump as he ran. He threw a glance over his shoulder towards the bushes he had just exited. He was small and thin, tall for his whole six and a half years, with white feathery hair and eyes the color of crimson cloth. His skin was far too pale, almost white, and he wore a bright red jerkin and white baggy pants rolled up to his knees._

_He faced forward and ran into another hedge, vanishing into the green canvas before him._

_Not a moment later, another child climbed out of the bushes and ran across the stone walkway, following the sounds of the boy's footsteps. The child was a girl, younger than the boy, shorter and smaller overall. She, unlike the boy, was wearing blue sandals and black stockings, which had rips and tears running along them. Her blue dress was scuffed but pretty with gold trimmings, and she had a blue and purple shawl rapped around her petite shoulders. Her face was round, her eyes wide and the deepest blue—the epitome of innocence. Her hair was a strange silver color, not grey, but like a gleaming silver piece._

_She huffed, her pretty face creasing with frustration, and she hurried across the path and dove into the bushes after the boy. A shriek of laughter rang through the garden, causing the adults to turn towards it and smile when they saw the girl go running out of the hedges and towards the fountain, with the boy running after her, grinning like mad._

_"I got you, Ghira!" the girl shrieked happily, holding tightly onto her shawl as she ran. _

_"You're not gunna get away!" the boy, Ghira, called back. "I'm gunna get you, Fi!"_

_That was the first time the boy felt true happiness._

_The shadows disappeared as the figures ran further away, and the older, more haunted Ghirahim turned to the walkway before him, seeing more memories solidify into dense shadows before him as he remembered. A boy, a proud seven years old now, went running out of a break in the row of hedges. It looked like he was going to speed off the walkway and into another grassy path between the hedges, but his bare toes caught the stone and he went falling._

_Ghira landed hard on his knees and hands, tumbling onto his side from the impact. He didn't move for a moment and only did when his sister, an older but still short Fi, came running and lightly tagged him on his thigh. She turned to run, but then noticed how Ghira didn't spring up to get her right back. She turned back and approached, just as a few adult witnesses came running towards the fallen boy._

_Ghira turned and sat on his behind, knees bent and legs out, palms up so he could look at his wounds. His sister stood beside him, looking shocked and scared, as they both saw the angry red marks over his palms. His left was worse, redder and the skin more torn. He looked, mouth agape, at his scrapes, and then turned his attention to his right knee, which had felt the brunt of his fall._

_His knee was red, scraped and bleeding. A tear of crimson blood, the color of his eyes, trickled from a bad scratch and into his pure white baggy pants. His face tightened a bit, but he looked shocked more than anything. A young mother knelt beside him, cooing nonsensically as she held his wrist to inspect the damage._

_Another figure, a tall, graceful woman swooped down onto the scene. She was beautiful, in a white flowing dress and tumbling golden hair, with a kind face and heavenly blue-gold eyes. The color of the sky around the sun. She knelt next to the young boy and wrapped her elegant hands kindly around his scraped hands, a kind smile on her perfect lips as the boy looked helplessly up at her._

_She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. The boy, as she gently kissed his forehead and lifted him up, propping his body against hers and settling him on her hip, calmed and loosened his tense body. The woman held her other hand down to the grief stricken, terrified young girl and waited until she took her hand to start walking out of the garden and to the two's home, under the castle._

_That was the first time the boy felt pain._

_The three figures disappeared, only so the remnants could be reformed into a familiar boy and girl, now older—perhaps nine—as they lay on the ground, watching the bright azure sky and the clouds race each other from horizon to the other._

_The boy had his hands folded under his head, and the girl had her hands folded comfortably across her stomach. She had grown, looking taller, while the boy had grown lankier and his hair fell over his eyes no matter what. They were wearing similar clothes, the boy in a darker red jerkin and white pants, while the girl had grown into a larger dress and stockings with pale blue ribbons crisscrossing across her legs. _

_"Ghira?" Fi asked her voice soft._

_"Yeah?" he whisper-spoke back, not taking his eyes from the sky._

_"Have you ever wondered if there's anything up there?"_

_"Up where, Fi?"_

_"In the sky."_

_"Oh. No, not really. Why?"_

_"It would be such a pretty place to live. In the sky, all the time…imagine all the colors you could see at sunset!"_

_Ghira smiled and said, "It's kind of silly," he said. "I mean, imagine all of us up on a rock somewhere in the middle of the sky, with nowhere to go and no way to get around. I think we'd all get sick of each other."_

_Fi contemplated that for a while before she giggled, a sound like tinkling bells. "Oh," she giggled. _

_Ghira smiled and said, "But you're right. It would be pretty."_

_Fi said, confidently, "Well, if Hylia ever builds a castle in the sky, we'll live there together and watch the sun set every day."_

_"Yes," Ghira agreed. "Until the end of time."_

_That was the first time the boy made a promise he wouldn't keep._

_The two figures disappeared as Ghirahim continued walking on, and they multiplied into a group of children. Their ages were varied from fourteen to nine, the majority boys, Fi and the oldest boy's younger sister, who was ten, were the only girls. _

_Fi was bent over to a hedge, with Ghirahim near her listening intently to her explanations of the tiny pink flower blooming on the hedge. She spoke rapidly, stumbling over her words in her excitement. She was just getting into the lengthy cataloguing of the pink on the petals and yellow in the center when a voice spoke from behind her. "Hey, Fi, look at this!"_

_She turned but didn't have time to block or duck away from the hand that came rushing towards her nose. Her mouth and nose was filled with a sickly sweet smelling bundle of blue flowers. She gasped and cried out, ducking away and scrabbling at the plants lodged in her nose and mouth. She spat them out, gasping and pulling stems and petals from her nose._

_The girl started laughing, obviously delighted that her surprise prank had been successful. She cried out when two hands shoved her shoulders and she fell onto her behind, on the ground. The girl stared at the younger but still furious Ghira, his red eyes blazing. "Don't touch my sister!"_

_She started to cry and wail loudly, even as Fi desperately scrubbed her tongue. Fi didn't cry, nor did the tiny crystals form in her eyes, but it was the closest she ever came. Ghira ignored the wailing girl and put his arm around his sister's shoulders, trying to calm her. _

_He wasn't expecting the rough hands that grabbed his arm and threw him to the ground. Ghira hit the ground hard, managing to land on his arms and not on his face. He looked up, flabbergasted, at the fourteen year old boy, whose sister was sniffling pathetically behind him. The brother was big, bulky and ugly. He sneered down at the strange looking boy._

_"No one touches my sister," he said angrily. "Especially not a freaky looking whoreson like you!" To complete his insult, he aimed a kick to Ghira's side and landed, hearing the satisfying cry of his victim. "Don't come near my sister again, you hear? If you do, I'll rip off those freaky pointy ears and stuff them down your throat!"_

_The brother herded his sister roughly away, shooting the boy on the ground several dirty looks before he disappeared behind a great hedge wall. Ghira groaned and forced himself to his knees, where Fi met him on hers. Her nose was red and there were petals and leaves stuck to her chin. She reached out and cupped his cheek, before putting her hand over his on his injured side._

_He raised his eyes to hers, and saw her eyes were older and sadder than ever before. Sadder than the first terrifying days they had spent in the castle. Sadder than when Ghira had fallen and skinned his knee. They were so old…and he knew his eyes reflected the same age and sadness. _

_That was the first time the boy was brutally beaten in a fight._

_The two kneeling children slipped away like sand through fingers as Ghirahim continued further into his memories. He felt his chest constrict when the shadows slithered together and formed two familiar forms. Ghira and Fi were older, almost twelve, and they were walking leisurely through the garden, close together. Fi was in her signature dress and her hair was clipped back with a blue pin. Ghira was in black leggings and a dark red tunic and still no shoes. _

_Fi raised her head to the sun, soaking in the warmth with a smile. Ghira was looking at the ground, his toes occasionally nudging a pebble and making it skip down the walkway. He was sulking, it was obvious. He was in one of his moods, and Fi knew it was the kind of mood that he didn't want to talk or be spoken to. _

_All too suddenly, Ghira stopped in his tracks, his entire body rigid and his eyes wide. Fi took several steps until she noticed Ghira had stopped. She turned back to see her brother standing as stiff as a board. She frowned and took a step towards him. "Ghira?" she whispered. "Are you alright?"_

_He tried to speak, but a visible shudder ran up his spine and he gasped, staggering backwards and falling to the ground, folding in on himself in obvious pain. Fi cried out, immediately throwing herself down to grab onto her brother. His muscles were contorting in pain and he gasped out, his spine straightening like a rod in his sister's grip. His head snapped back and he let out a short, sharp cry, his fingers forming into a claw like shape and his toes bending uncomfortably at the pain._

_Fi gasped and pulled his shoulders onto her knees and cradled his head against her stomach. Ghira's face was contorted, his mouth twisting and occasionally ripping open to let out a cry. Some of the strollers in the park came running towards them, wanting to see where the pained cries were coming from. _

_Angry red welts were appearing all over Ghira's pale white skin, raising up and pulsing in beat with his heart. They appeared everywhere, on his neck and arms and under his now too-tight shirt. Even as Fi and the onlookers watched, Ghira's body was extending and twisting, growing rapidly as he cried out and dragged his nails against the stone beneath his hands._

_His tunic was torn as his body grew from his twelve year olds form to a larger, taller and more powerful adult body. The tunic tore at his chest, where a bright diamond grew from his chest and flared with a inner bright light. His clothes looked comically small on his writhing body. _

_The still young Fi was almost crying now. She had never shed a tear in her life, but this by far was the closest she ever came to shedding one. "Ghira," she cried. "Ghira! What's happening?"_

_"Th-they h-have m-me!" he screamed. "It-t hur-rts!"_

_"Who have you?" she gasped, her fingers tangling in his white hair. "Please, Ghirahim!"_

_He thrashed his head and screamed. "I can't-t! Th-they're t-too f-far aw-away! P-please, F-Fi!"_

_Fi rocked her body back and forth even as she saw Ghirahim's older body starting to dissolve at the edges, starting at his toes and fingers and working up his limbs. He screamed, a piercing sound, as his torso started to disappear…and the he dissolved into a few lonely diamonds just as a familiar white robed figure came through the crowd._

_She only found a tiny, lost young girl kneeling on the walkway, looking so vulnerable and frightened. She looked up, her eyes wide, as the final tiny diamonds disappeared into a few specks of dust. Hylia's face fell, and she carefully knelt in front of the young girl. _

_Fi spoke softly, her voice so small. "He said they had him," she whimpered. "That they got too far away."_

_Hylia reached out and stroked her hand down Fi's hair, cupping her chin. "We will find him, Fi," Hylia promised. "They won't get away with him."_

_This was the last time the boy spoke to his sister until two thousand, six hundred and eighty four years later, on a tiny nearly molten rock in the middle of a volcanic region, when he was dark and she was emotionless. _

_It was the last time the boy felt good. It was the last time he felt whole._

_It was the last time he felt anything at all._

* * *

><p><strong>This. Was so much fun to write. I can't even begin to explain it.<strong>

**But what I can explain is the garden and the random growth spurt at the end. The garden, from what I can safely explain, was the great garden in the middle of Hylia's castle before it was destroyed in the first war with Demise. And the growth spurt, if you haven't figured it out, will be explained in later chapters.**

**Anywho, I have MOAR exciting news! Another fanart has been drawn (squee!), and even though it's only a WIP, I want to share. **

**http:/ . com/?order=5&q=bloodstained#/d4q1qrz**

**Just take out the spaces, and enjoy. **

**Now, onto my lovely reviews! **

**increak96—I don't mind, dear! I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was so fun to write. I love Mihra, personally, even though I hate her at the same time…strange, indeed, but thank you for reviewing!**

**Spartan13576—Oh, dear, there's no need to go physco demon murderer on me, nuh uh. Oh, you really have some crazy adventures, don't you? Well, thanks for the review, dear, and thanks for reading!**

**gwendolyndark—Oh, thanks dear! I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for your review (it really made me feel better about it, I wasn't confident at all in the last chapter) and I hope you like what I have in store. :3**

**henslight—I know, right? It's just so annoying. I was too, actually…did he kind of just slepp wherever, or did he have some abode somewhere? :3 It always intrigued me. Thanks for your review!**

**vsama—That she did, dear. That she did. Thanks for the review and I hope you enjoy.**

**BanishedOne—Oh, they have indeed! :3 I was writing it and thinking about our conversations. Perhaps…perhaps…maybe I'll hint it somewhere. :L Thanks for your review! I hope you enjoy what I've got up my sleeve…heh heh.**

**Pilpols (all reviews)-Wow, thanks dear! :) I'm glad you like it. Thanks for all of your reviews!**

**Thank you all! :L Sorry for any typos, as usual. Thanks for all the reviews, and my love to all of you!**

**-Spirit- **


	15. Chapter 15

The flashback abruptly ended and Ghirahim stumbled back, tripping over the roots that covered the stone path that he had stood on moments before. Or, he thought he had been.

Ghirahim put a hand to his chest, feeling the diamond and his cool skin, trying to reorient himself. He abruptly sat down; legs folded, and reached out to the roots and overgrowth that were covering the ground. He put his hands flat over the ground, and then dug his fingers down into the dirt in a vain attempt to touch the stone he might have fallen and skinned his knee on.

He let out a soft breath, a huff-sigh, and blinked away the confusing feelings that were churning behind his eyes before he shakily stood up and made his determined way towards the fountain that was the centerpiece of the once-garden. What he found, instead, was a massive, earthy mound. From the top was a tiny piece of stone that looked like the cool grey stone of the fountain he remembered.

Ghirahim walked to it, putting his hand over the vines and flowers that covered it, and traced a tiny pink flower's petals with his finger. He remembered it…even after all these years the descendants of that tiny flower Fi had analyzed were still blooming. The thought warmed him. _At least something survived unscathed._

Ghirahim gently plucked the flower and twirled it between his fingers, delicately bringing it up to his nose to sniff it. It smelled faintly like a sweet fruit, like nectar. He smiled at the tiny blossom and tucked it behind his _pointed_ ear. Taking a step back, Ghirahim raised his hands and watched as they glowed with red and white diamonds that cascaded from his hands like fire. He extended the magic to the flora covering the fountain and pulled his hands down.

The vines and overgrowth fell from the fountain like it was shedding a piece of loose clothing. The fountain, underused and long dry, still stood as gloriously as it did two thousand years ago.

The fountain was a beautiful carved woman in a flowing dress, on one tip toe and hand extended towards the heaven, palm up. The water would fall from her palm and into the tiny pond beneath her. The walls surrounding the fountain were three feet high and the statue itself was nine.

Ghirahim leaned over the wall to run his fingers over the cool stone. It was rough after years of weathering, but the same as it had been before. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his stained lips. The sword spirit turned away from the fountain and sat on the tiny wall surrounding it, admiring the overgrown garden. He pretended nothing had happened between then and now.

After a while of wasting time in the garden, Ghirahim remembered he was to meet Link in the Sealed Grounds. He felt a little guilty that he had left Link there for almost two hours, but that couldn't be helped. He had remembered quite a bit of his past, and the kind of memories he remembered were the good kind. They were invaluable.

Ghirahim stood and looked over the garden once more, and the fountain, before he snapped his fingers and teleported to the Sealed Grounds. He reappeared in front of the Statue of the Goddess that had fallen from the sky to return to the Surface. The sword spirit craned his neck upwards to see the Statue's top before he walked to the grand temple doors. They swung open with a nudge from his magic, and as he stepped into the Temple he was under the immediate scrutiny of the two people within its sacred walls.

Link was the first to speak. "Where have you been?"

Ghirahim walked in and the doors glided shut behind him. "I—"

"I've been waiting here for two hours pacing aimlessly wondering if you're lying in the bottom of a ditch somewhere! Where did you go? Did you just forget about me and go wandering to your heart's content? Well?"

Link was practically raging by the time he finished. He had stepped up to Ghirahim, barely two steps away from him, while he shouted. Ghirahim just looked at him, both confused and amused by Link's obvious concern that had now manifested itself as anger. The sword spirit held back a smile and said, "I was in my garden."

"I can't—wait what?"

"I was in my garden," Ghirahim repeated. "In the Lost Faron Woods."

"You have a garden?" Link asked, his entire body deflating as the anger left him. "In the where Faron Woods?"

Ghirahim sighed loudly. "It's not _my _garden, per say, but it was one I played in as a child. I was in the Lost Faron Woods, or the unexplored parts of the woods past the normal boundaries of the clearings."

Link frowned. "I didn't know there was anything outside of the Deep Faron Woods and the normal woods."

"Of course there is," Ghirahim said, reached back to play with his cape idly as he spoke. "I just happened to stumble into the Garden of the Goddess. Well, I suppose it would be the Lost Garden of the Goddess now, but that hardly matters. I apologize for making you wait, I lost track of time."

Link smiled shyly. "It's fine," he said sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck and scuffed his toes against the stone as he spoke, "Sorry for yelling at you."

Ghirahim waved off his apology and said, briskly, "What is it that we came down here for, anyways?"

Link turned to the Goddess reincarnate as she approached, smiling softly. "You're now a purified sword spirit," Zelda said as she stopped before the two. "If you'll allow him, Link can wield your blade. But what I asked Groose to bring you two down for is this: I've remembered a sacred place in, what you've called the Lost Faron Woods, that your blade most likely manifested its physical self. If you two wish, you can journey there today."

Ghirahim's eyes rose to Zelda's, and for the first time he really noticed the color of her eyes. A heavenly blue-gold, the color of the sky around the sun. His red lips rose in a small smile. He knew then where she meant.

"I don't see why not," Link said uneasily, noticing how Ghirahim and Zelda were staring at each other unabashedly. "If Ghirahim thinks it's alright, I'll go."

Ghirahim raised his eyes from Zelda's and to Link's, the black orbs piercing straight through him and pinning him to the spot. A smile formed on his lips and the sword spirit said, "Oh yes. It's very much alright."

* * *

><p>The two set off not a half hour later. Zelda had spent most of the time explaining, in great detail, where she believed Ghirahim's blade was and how to get there. Ghirahim had remained silent throughout the explanation, opting instead for sifting through his memories of the places Zelda described.<p>

Link grudgingly agreed to teleport to the garden Ghirahim had explored earlier in the day. He nearly threw up when he landed, but managed to keep his meager lunch in his stomach for the time being. Ghirahim just smirked as the Hero clutched at his stomach and eventually straightened his spine, while his blue eyes were bright with annoyance.

"You just love this, don't you?" Link bit out.

"I admit," Ghirahim smirked, "It does give me a certain amount of amusement."

Link huffed and determinedly straightened out his spine and said, "Where are we going, then?"

"We need to find the entrance to the catacombs beneath the ground," Ghirahim said. "It's where I "grew up"…it's off the west exit of this garden, but everything's so overgrown that it will take some time to navigate."

Link shrugged. "We have time," he said calmly. He spread his arm out before him. "Lead the way."

Ghirahim nodded and combed his fingers through his white hair, which was a futile gesture because it fell over both of his eyes immediately. He closed his eyes and the old garden settled like a fine coating over the unkempt garden of now, and following the stone walkway that was beneath many layers of dirt and grass, he started towards his old home.

Link followed silently, not wanting to disturb Ghirahim's thoughts. He instead watched as Ghirahim's feet fell on the ground before they actually floated up and he was merely walking on air, his cape fluttering softly behind him and his hair ruffling in the breeze. He watched Ghirahim for a while before he turned his attention to the garden around him.

Well, garden wasn't the perfect word to describe it, in Link's opinion. Though he caught a glimpse or two of a beautiful statue, it was the only remnant of what the garden had been. It was all tall trees in random places and overgrown, unkempt bushes. The grass was long and ragged. It gave the feeling of an orchard, or a flat field with trees dotting around and hindering vision of the horizon.

It was a pretty place, Link admitted, but it didn't strike him as a garden the Goddess would have inhabited and looked after. But, he knew it had been unattended for a very long time. It was probably once the most beautiful and serene place on the entire Surface.

He was pulled from his musings when Ghirahim fell to the ground and began jogging. They entered the denser part of the Lost Faron Woods, the trees were thick, darker and closer together. There was a path, though it was very overgrown, between the trees. Ghirahim went first, making his way nimbly around the tall, spindly weeds and over the thick roots.

They encountered quite a few Deku Babas and Quadro Babas, but Link dispatched several of them with deft sword strokes. Ghirahim killed the rest with a few slashes of his hand, which was controlling a few sharp red and white diamonds that followed his strokes.

Ghirahim slowed as the almost path opened up to an overgrown clearing before them. The grass, leaves and foliage were much darker than the garden. The branches dipped lower and the shadows that flittered around looked more menacing and dangerous.

Link stepped around Ghirahim to see why he had slowed. He stood beside the sword spirit and looked down at the ground; he only saw a rather large mound of grass before them. Ghirahim made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat and swiped his hand, and the movement caused the grass to rip away from the ground and get thrown into the shadows.

With the grass gone, Link and Ghirahim saw a stone tablet half buried in the ground. It was slanted towards them, but looked uncomfortably like a flat tombstone. Link stepped forward and knelt down in front of his, dusting off a fine layer of dirt off the surface of the dark stone.

"Fi and Ghirahim were here," he read out loud before looking up questioningly at the sword spirit. Ghirahim was smiling but looked embarrassed as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. "The Goddess allowed us to make our own doormat, if you will," he explained. "Fi wrote that, actually."

Link looked down at the tablet with more interest than before. The writing didn't look special or elegant like he expected from Fi. It was in an old kind of runic writing and done almost crudely. Link supposed that Fi had been young when she had written it.

"Can sword spirits even be young?" Link asked impulsively, like he had spoken his thoughts out loud.

"All creatures have to be young once," Ghirahim responded. "Though Fi and I weren't actually born, like you were. We were created as our adult selves and for our protection Hylia helped transform us into children."

"Why?"

"For our protection," Ghirahim repeated, firmly. "Now move, we need to get down there."

Link obediently moved to the side and Ghirahim knelt and put his hand over the tablet. The intricate carvings Link had failed to notice around the edges flared to life with a bright red light before it faded. Ghirahim stood and pulled Link back as the earth rumbled and groaned.

The tablet sunk into the ground along with a large section of the ground behind it. The earth transformed into stone as it turned into a large, elegant staircase that led into the ground. It was like a giant maw had opened up before them, just waiting to swallow them whole.

The ground finally stopped rumbling and shaking beneath their feet, and Ghirahim let his arm drop from where it had been held protectively in front of Link. He stepped forward to look down the wide, aged staircase. It looked old, unused and weathered, but in good shape nonetheless.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Link asked as he stood beside the sword spirit. "Onwards and downwards."

Ghirahim smirked a bit, nodded at the Hero at his side, and they started down the staircase that led to the long lost catacombs of Hylia's Castle. They didn't see the dark robed figure standing behind them that disappeared into the shadows the moment they ventured down into the catacombs.

* * *

><p><strong>Ugh, finally. This one took me everything I had to finish tonight. I hope it doesn't show, but I promise next chapter will be more exciting. I'll just say: we are nearing the end, and it is approaching swiftly. Brace yourselves. <strong>

**Sorry for any typos and my very late updates as of late. Anyways, thanks for all those who reviewed! For the review responses:**

**vsama—Oh, I don't think we'll ever know Ghirahim's ultimate fate, but his here is not a happy one. Thanks for reviewing, and I agree that the fanart is great!**

**meijosui—Oh, I never mind a new reviewer, believe me! Thank you for your support and love, it means a lot to me. I'm glad you enjoy my story, and thanks for reviewing!**

**CakeStealer—Thank you, dear. I felt the same way. Thanks for your review!**

**increak96—Thank you! I feel bad for him too, but it had to be done. I'm not even sure where he is, but somehow I feel like he is one of Groose's ancestors. Thanks for the review!**

**Trolly's Bara-chan—Thanks! At least I'm not the only one. And I loved writing the dreams, and one of your interpretations is mostly correct…but I won't say which one. :3 Thanks for your review!**

**Pilpols—My thoughts exactly. **

**Thanks all! Until next time.**

**-Spirit-**


	16. Chapter 16

Link's first impression of the catacombs was that they were very dusty. Dusty and dark.

The walls were very far apart but the ceiling was low. The stone was dark, practically sucking in every particle of light from the entrance the two stepped down from. The air was stuffy and tasted old. Link blinked and looked back at Ghirahim, who was standing by the opposite wall and running his fingers over the stone.

"Do you remember it?"

Ghirahim looked up at him, and then back at the stone. "A little," he admitted. "It's more familiar to me than anything else."

"You stayed down here then? This is where you lived?"

"At first," Ghirahim said. "But further down in the catacombs."

"Why did you stay down here? It's a bit…crude. Why not in the castle?"

Ghirahim started walking down the hall, his fingers still tracing the stone. It left behind a cleaner trail as his fingers wiped away a layer of dust and dirt from the stone. Link furrowed his brow at the action but followed his friend as he walked.

"It was safer," Ghirahim explained. "Hylia took extreme precautions to keep us safe from enemies, like the demons. Didn't work in the end, but nonetheless, the effort was substantial. These catacombs weren't built specifically for us, but in the event of an invasion or some other tragedy, the entire population could go underground and seal off the entrances. There were supplies of food and water that could last several years, thanks to Hylia's magic. These catacombs were never used, however, even when Demise came to power, because Hylia knew Demise could easily enter the catacombs and everyone inside of them would be trapped. This was more for a natural disaster back up plan than anything else."

"But I don't understand why you and Fi lived here," Link said, even though he was intrigued by the information. Ghirahim stopped at a fork in the catacombs and looked down each one before closing his eyes and going right, his finger still gliding over the stone wall.

"The castle was too predictable," the sword spirit said. "It was also unsafe and easily accessible by enemies. Hylia's solution was to, for one, turn us into children after our decisions about who would wield us, our memories were wiped clean until they were awakened by the Goddess's Chosen Hero. Another was to keep us in these catacombs. Unless you know your way around and the trick to navigate it, you could get lost in here for millenniums, and Hylia made sure we knew our way around and to never tell another soul how to."

"So when you were down here," Link said, softly, "You were untouchable."

"Exactly. Though turning us into children was also very risky, Fi and I both agreed. It was also a security measure for the exact thing that happened to me. If one of us were to fall into enemy hands, we would not be able to offer any information on Hylia or how to create sword spirits."

"But you remember everything," Link interrupted as they turned down another hall, and another. Link realized that he was already lost. If he would have tried to get back, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to return to the entrance.

"Yes," Ghirahim agreed. "Hylia didn't foresee that Demise, or anyone, could turn a sword spirit into a magic-wielding demon. Or that when even in demon hands, a sword spirit "child" would turn into his true self, memories intact."

"It was a useless precaution," Link realized, with his eyes wide.

Ghirahim nodded, writing an _L_ above the line he was making in the dirt on the wall before he crossed the hall and put his finger back on the wall. He had gone to the left hall in the four way intersection, across the hall and where he couldn't have continued the line.

"It was," Ghirahim said. "But looking back, I think Hylia also wanted to do something for us. She wanted us to have a childhood, to grow up and learn life's lessons instead of knowing them without _learning_ them. It was unbelievably kind on her part. Though she wanted us to grow up normal, she couldn't have us completely ignorant…she learned that the hard way, when I was taken and she must have had to explain to Fi that she wasn't a girl…or alive…or _human._ It broke her, I think. Both of them. Fi never let herself feel emotion again, so she wouldn't be duped once more, and Hylia because her kindness only destroyed us in the end."

"It didn't destroy you, though," Link said. "It saved us."

"Eventually," Ghirahim conceded. "But not in the way she expected."

"Rarely anything is," Link murmured, stopping when Ghirahim did. The sword spirit was frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Took a wrong turn," Ghirahim muttered irritably. He turned and put his finger higher above the previous one, and only started to move after he drew an arrow on the line pointing in the direction they were going. He followed his line in the dust back two turns, and then went right instead of forward at a five way intersection of the catacomb halls. Link realized what Ghirahim was doing, then.

"You're making sure we can get out," he said wonderingly. "You're dropping string so we know where we've been."

"The only reliable way to traverse these things," Ghirahim said approvingly, glad Link had caught on. "Never enter a catacomb or a tomb unless you've got string or a lot of dust."

Link closed his mouth and nodded, still amazed at Ghirahim's forethought. This, he realized, was why Ghirahim had survived so long. He had a plan.

The two were silent for a while, and Ghirahim had to backtrack three more times before he assured Link that they were getting closer to the end. Link noticed the stone was getting brighter, as they continued further in. Instead of the halls being dark and suffocating, the stone almost gave off light and the air seemed softer around them. The Hero and the sword spirit stopped at the same time when they approached a tall, elegant door. Without hesitating, Ghirahim approached and bent down, putting his hand on a tiny carved circle on the door. The carvings were childish but pretty, like finger paint. The carvings flared the same red color the tablet did, before the door groaned and moved to the side, into the wall.

Link and Ghirahim entered the room, and Link stopped dead when he got a good look around.

It was a large, light, round room with a high vaulted ceiling. There seemed to be an artificial sun that was halfway across the tall domed ceiling, imitating the actual sun above the ground. The walls were tall before they started on the dome that made the ceiling, and every inch was covered in intricate carvings, not unlike the one on the door. Immediately before them, on the other side of the large room, was a tall statue.

The statue wasn't like the others of the Goddess. It was more humanoid, with slanted, unseeing eyes and tumbling hair, a flowing robe and womanly curves. Her hands were out, in the shape like she was holding a pole or a sword hilt, pointing down. She was tall, graceful, and even in stone form, very beautiful. Link took a step back at the familiar statue, and watched it warily.

"Link?" Ghirahim asked, turning back to see Link staring at the Goddess Statue. "What is it?"

"I've seen this place before," Link admitted, not taking his eyes from the still statue. "In a dream."

Ghirahim would have laughed off such a statement before, if he hadn't had trust in Link's judgment and reliability. He turned to look fully at the Hero. "What happened, then?"

"The night we both had nightmares," Link started, "Mine was that I was here. The statue…moved, and had your sword on its back. But…it threw it at me, in the dream. A killing stroke."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I didn't see a reason to," Link shot back. "I didn't tell anyone about my dreams about Fi or the Imprisoned."

Ghirahim huffed irritably. "You should have told me," he said. "This was a bad idea. If you had a premonition like that about wielding my blade, we should have come down here with the intent to hide it, not take it."

Link shook his head. "I have to," he said, firmly. "It won't be safe otherwise! And what about Mihra? What if she gets a hold of it?"

Ghirahim scowled. "You're hell bent on using my blade, aren't you?"

"A little," Link admitted, and he finally took his eyes from the statue to look at Ghirahim with a small smile.

The sword spirit huffed and turned to the wall he was closest to. He reached up and traced his fingers over an etched line in the stone, a part of an intricate mural that was carved into the wall. He backed up to get a better look at it. The carving was one he was familiar with, because Fi had spent weeks painstakingly carving it when she was seven. It was of a flower, not unlike the ones she used to pick from the garden, and the petals were open and in full bloom. The Goddess's castle was nestled between the stamen—or the tendril like parts of the flower—and it was aglow with life and fireworks.

Ghirahim smiled. He turned to find Link, who was examining another carving on the other side of the room. He crossed the large room and looked at the same carving, remembering it intimately. It was a more advanced and experienced than the flower. It was of two figures, back to back, with their hands intertwined and ankles crossed with the others. The back of their heads were lightly touching, and both were looking out towards them. One was a man, the other a woman. Link immediately recognized the woman as Fi, and the man was Ghirahim.

"We did this one together," Ghirahim said. "I did Fi, and she did me. We were only ten when we did this one, but we wanted to make projections of what we thought we were going to look like. It was my favorite out of all of the drawings in here."

"You and Fi…drew these?"

Ghirahim nodded. "Mostly Fi," he admitted. "I preferred to watch her and read manuscripts from the castle's library." He turned and walked ten feet away, where he traced his fingers over another carving further down the wall. "Fi was working on this one when I got taken," he said, softly. His fingers followed one of the lines until it ended, leaving only smooth stone. "It looks like she never finished."

Link walked over and saw what Ghirahim meant. It was a detailed carving of what looked like a broad, powerful warrior in a tunic, and with a thick broadsword in one hand. A shield was on his other, while his face was turned up and to the left, in a display of grace, power and masculinity. The lines of the carving were lighter on his thighs and the tip of the sword he carried, and his boots or the ground he stood on wasn't even 'sketched' out.

"Was this…?"

"Fi's interpretation of the Goddess's Chosen Hero, yes," Ghirahim finished for Link. "It's what she imagined. I used to read her the stories of him before bed when we would grow up. She had a distinct fascination with him, and a very strong certainty that she would marry him. Only once he saved the world, of course."

Link smiled, and looked at the face with more interest. It was…nothing like him. The ears were pointed, yes, but his hair was short, his chin and brow were broad and firm, while his eyes were deep set. His lips were thin and it looked like he had a fine dusting of a beard on his chin. It was a spitting image of a classic hero; of a strong, undefeatable warrior.

"You know," Link said after a while. "If I was Fi, and expecting someone like this for my Hero to save the surface, and all I got was me, I would be sorely disappointed."

"I think she was, at first," Ghirahim teased. "But maybe it's for the better, that you're small and the opposite of the traditional hero image. That way you're underestimated."

Link scowled at him before laughing lightly and bumping his shoulder against Ghirahim's upper arm in a playful gesture. "Yeah, maybe," Link agreed with a smile. "It's just so strange. I didn't even know it and I was letting Fi down."

Ghirahim smiled a bit. "You made up for it, in the end," he assured. "You made her happy. You made her feel again."

Link looked up at him and smiled before he asked, "So, where's your sword?"

Ghirahim shrugged and looked around. "I don't know," he admitted. "You said the Goddess Statue had it, in your dream?"

Link's good demeanor dropped instantly. "Yes," he said solemnly.

"Well, let's look there first, shall we?" Ghirahim started across the room towards the still statue. Before he even took three steps away from Link, an all too familiar voice rang out, making chills run down both of their spines.

"You two really should learn to clean up after yourselves," Mihra's voice said. She sounded like she was pouting. "Your dust trail was all too easy to follow, honestly."

Link whipped around instantly, while Ghirahim turned more sedately. He started walking slowly towards her, taking deliberate and long steps. Ghirahim responded, "I just didn't want to leave you out of the fun, Mihra dear. Quite a pity that you didn't stick around in Lanayru, we could have caught up then."

Mihra smiled teasingly. She played with the dark brooch holding her cloak around her throat. "I wasn't in a talking mood," she explained.

Ghirahim, by now, had put his body between Mihra and Link, being a shield. Mihra noticed this and smiled evilly for a moment before it eased into a more seductive smile.

"You care for him," she observed, looking down at her intricate brooch and playing with it still. "It's cute, almost. I feel almost bad that I have to kill him to hurt you, Ghirahim. But it's the only way…what a shame, he's actually cute."

With that, Mihra unfastened her brooch and let her thick cloak fall to the ground. The first thing both Link and Ghirahim noticed, was not her outfit, but the two wicked looking, arm length swords on her belt. She drew them out, slowly, letting the black blades glimmer in the tiny sun's light.

Ghirahim kept his eyes on the blades. "Link, your sword, if you will."

"Shouldn't I fight her?" Link asked, dubiously.

"No," Ghirahim said, his arm extended backwards towards Link, hand open so he could accept his sword. "It must be me. You won't last two minutes against a demon."

"Sometimes two minutes is all I need," Link murmured, but he knew Ghirahim needed to fight Mihra. He unsheathed his sword, flipped it around, and laid the hilt gently in his outstretched hand. Ghirahim's fingers closed around the hilt and he pointed it to the ground, his eyes never once leaving Mihra's gently twirling blades.

The sword glowed bright for a long moment, before the blade extended and curved before their eyes. The hilt flared a blood red, while veins of red traced throughout the blade. Ghirahim raised the blade to eye level, examining it with care, before he smiled and lowered the sword, looking at Mihra with the amused smile on his red lips.

"Well?" He asked. "Are we going to fight, or not?"

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for a suckish ending. I couldn't find out how to end this chapter right, so now you've been left with a cliché, stupid ending. You're welcome. <strong>

**Anyways, thanks to those who put this story or me on alert, and to those who've reviewed. Waking up to 11 emails of reviews really started a good day, let me tell you. Now, for the task of responding to all the reviews. *smiles and cracks fingers* Let's go.**

**Tapix (all reviews)—Oh, wow, I feel both accomplished and guilty. Sorry for making you cry, but I hope you're not offended if I take it as a compliment. I have intentions of stopping, but not until this story sees its end. You can never have too many head cannons, dear. It hurt to cut his hair, but I felt like it had to be done. I personally like "OMIGAWD," but that's just me. Oh, dear, I'm in the same minecar with you. I won't be able to handle it well either…I'll tell your parents if you tell mine. Thanks for your reviews!**

**meijosui—Heh, I couldn't resist. It's like they're journeying into a dungeon together… :D I would love to too, believe me! I see them in my mind's eye, but I can't get them on paper…eh. Thanks for your reviews!**

**Vsama—Oh, Mihra is in for a little surprise. Maybe not a full fledged dungeon, but close enough. :L Thanks for your review!**

**Royal9000—Thank you! I liked thinking of Ghirahim and Fi having a chance at childhood, and I hoped I explained their discussions here well enough. And for the catacombs, I hope that's also been satisfactorily explained. *whistles innocently and looks away* Perhaps, perhaps not. I'll update as soon as I can, and thank you for the long review—I always enjoy reading what you have to say. :L**

**Spartan13576—I'll assure you now: there is no chance of Link getting a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or anything of the sort. Sorry, dear, and I hope you get resurrected (again), and thank you for your review!**

**Trolly's Bara-chan—Oh yes, there is always something to be protected from, especially when you're a very powerful spirit of an indestructible sword. :3 Thanks for your review!**

**Pilpols—Thanks, I know, right? He really does care…deep inside. Thanks for your review!**

**Gees, guys! Responding to these reviews takes longer than writing the chapter itself! I love it. Thanks to all of you, and I'll see you all soon.**

**-Spirit-**


	17. Chapter 17

Neither of the two immediately attacked.

Mihra and Ghirahim only started to circle each other, keeping an equal distance between them, watching the other like a hawk. Mihra was smiling, twirling her scimitars in tiny circles by her sides. Ghirahim kept his blade low and across his body, walking sideways as to keep Mihra in front of him.

Mihra circled closer, moving sideways and forwards, and Ghirahim let her. Neither spoke, which was a blessing. If Mihra had been trying to tempt him it would have been an unfair fight, but it seemed she was too excited to properly use her gift. She licked her black lips and lunged.

Ghirahim saw it coming, immediately jumping left and letting her scimitar slice uselessly in the air where he had been standing. He retaliated with a strike of his own, but Mihra crossed her blades and his was locked in the nook it created. Yanking his sword away, he tried for her left side with a quick slice but her blade met his.

The two were equal fighters; it became obvious to all three of them very quickly. Though Mihra had two blades, Ghirahim's reach was longer and his moves were intricate. She had an astounding guard that never slipped while his strokes were deft, sharp and dangerous. The speed at which they moved was unearthly, reflexes as quick as lightning. Their bodies flowed from one maneuver to the next flawlessly. Link had the impression the two were almost dancing.

Their bodies moved in sync, the dance pulling them together for an instant before momentum or force pushed them away, only to spiral back, nearly touching, blades singing with high notes. Neither of them faltered for a second, it seemed they barely thought, only did, reacted and repeated. Their dance carried them across the room, in wide circles. They didn't let the other pin them against the wall, always sliding under the other's sword or jumping away before it could happen.

Link watched with wide eyes as the blades sang and the enemies danced. He realized why Ghirahim had insisted on him fighting; without a sacred blade or help, Link wouldn't have lasted this long. Even though he had considerable experience defeating enemies much stronger, faster and bigger than him, Mihra was as fast as lightning and ten times as experienced. She would have cut him down within seconds.

Ghirahim held his own. It was obvious a sword was not his weapon of choice, but he was well rehearsed in the tactics. His moves were smooth, sliding from one slice to the next, but never able to break through Mihra's steel guard. Ghirahim soon realized that Mihra was splitting her blades to do two separate duties. One was defending her body while the other would almost instantly strike out to slice him when he attacked.

The sword spirit then knew what to do. When he had deflected a lightning quick stroke to his torso, instead of retaliating with one of his own, he stomped his foot forward, jerked his body forward to get close to her face, and yelled, "BAH!"

Mihra jerked back, gasping out at the sudden noise and motion. The falter was a lethal mistake. Ghirahim blade jumped up and hooked in the intricate cross guard of her right scimitar and jerked it away. Her blade went flying across the room, hit the ground, and skidded until it hit the wall with a desolate _clang. _

Mihra jumped back, fuming, and now with only a short reaching scimitar. Ghirahim grinned, and stepped forward to deliver another attack.

Link started at the sound of Ghirahim's shout, and grinned when he saw the sword go flying. Without a thought, he went sprinting towards it and grabbed the blade. The hilt was cold to the touch, and the blade seemed to shiver when he took a hold of it. The blade was black, the cross guard now slightly bent. The scimitar was thin at the base and as it curved, it grew thicker until it turned inwards in a deadly curve and point. The blade was elegant and deadly, the point sharp and glinting in the light.

Link stood and he was momentarily at a loss at how light the blade felt. It didn't feel like the Master Sword, or even the practice swords. It was devilishly light. It felt like nothing in his hand, even though it was longer than his arm. He briefly wondered how such a light blade had withstood viscous attacks from Ghirahim's sword.

With a shrug, he turned back to the battle just in time to see the first blood spilt. Ghirahim had feinted to the right, but Mihra saw it and clashed her blade into its side, jerking it past his body and opening up a hole in his guard. Her sword slashed upwards and cut through his cape and flesh on his shoulder, from his armpit up.

Ghirahim yelled and jumped back, hissing at the sight of his crimson blood flowing from the wound. Mihra cried out triumphantly and lunged forwards to continue her success. Ghirahim parried, but only barely. It was obvious the wound hurt him, because he had to keep his left arm pressed against his stomach so it didn't swing uselessly.

Link looked around, realizing that if he joined the fray—even with Mihra's scimitar—he would be chopped to bits in seconds, and no use to the now injured Ghirahim. He cast desperately around, trying to figure out where Ghirahim's blade could have materialized. His eyes fell on the Goddess Statue, and with a gulp, he went running towards it, hugging the wall.

He stopped in front of the ten foot high statue, looking around it and swiping his hands under the almost fists in an attempt to find the blade. Link heard the battle behind him but tried to tune it out; he needed to think.

In his dream, the statue had come alive and unsheathed the blade, which had been invisible until then. He doubted that the statue would actually come to life, but could the blade still be invisible? Until he found it, or Ghirahim called for it? Abandoning traditions, he hopped onto the pedestal the statue stood on and ran his hands over the shoulders, trying to feel the sword hilt.

There was nothing. Link frowned and jumped down and stared at the statue. He glanced back to see Ghirahim and Mihra's blades locked between their bodies. It looked liked they were whispering harshly to each other, muscles straining and blood dripping. Link turned away and looked at the statue.

"Where are you?" he whispered, looking at the statue's face and hands. "Where could you be? If I were a sacred blade, where would I materialize?"

Link looked around the room again, trying to ignore the still forms of Mihra and Ghirahim still whispering heatedly to each other, and tried to find any clues. There were no pink gems, or secret holes to crawl through, or a clawshot target on the ceiling…was it possible the blade had materialized somewhere else in the catacombs?

"Ghirahim!" Link called, turning around. The sword spirit and demon had finally pulled apart, only to continue the dance they had begun earlier. "Where is it?" He hoped his vague description would confuse Mihra, but he hoped Ghirahim would understand and reply in kind.

"How should I know?" he called, jumping back so he wasn't sliced in half. "You're the Hero, figure it out!"

"It's not that easy!" Link shouted. "There's nothing!"

"Use your head!" Ghirahim shouted right back, slicing at Mihra's arm but only meeting steel. "Damn it, it's right in front of you!"

Link turned around again and stared at the statue. Right in front? There was only the statue…and her outstretched hands…

Frowning, Link reached up and tugged at the almost fists the Goddess statue held out. He tried to tug her hands down like they were levers, but nothing happened. Link was getting panicked and quite frustrated by the time he grunted, "Just give me the sword already!" In an act of desperation, he whipped out the harp he had forgotten to return to Zelda and strummed a jerky tune.

The statue reacted to the beautiful notes and slowly started to move. Link staggered back as the statue started to shift, turning around on its feet like it was on a turntable. The other side of the goddess statue looked exactly the same as the other, but instead of her hands being in two almost fists, her hands were open and palms up.

With a jolt, the Hero realized the Goddess Statue wanted something in return for Ghirahim's sword. He carefully laid the scimitar in his hand in the Goddess's, and stepped back. The dark blade started to glow, and the light became too unbearable that the Hero had to shield his eyes and look away by the time it had reached its brightest. There was the sound of battle in the background.

Link looked back to the statue, and stared at the sword in its hands. The scimitar had disappeared, being replaced by a glowing white blade with a bright red hilt. He didn't have time to admire the blade, so he turned around and yelled, "I've got it!"

Ghirahim was thankful for the warning. He jumped back and scrabbled away from Mihra, wanting to give himself time to adjust to the feeling of being wielded again. He tensed when he felt his blade being picked up. It wasn't like he felt Link's hands encompass his being, but like he had ripped off his arm and carried that—though he still had feeling and control over said arm.

It wasn't painful, like it had been when the demons had found him. It was soft and comforting, if sweaty. Link's grip was strong but not suffocating, and Ghirahim found himself relaxing when Link's touch didn't burn him, or he burn the Hero. Ghirahim felt a portion of his consciousness infuse the sword in Link's grasp.

Link ran forward, and gave a shout as he jumped forward to block Ghirahim's body with his own. Mihra halted her attack at the sight of the white blade, and a nasty smile curled on her black lips. Link could see where her stomach was bleeding. It seemed Ghirahim had managed to wound Mihra, even with his own wound.

"Things just got interesting," Mihra chuckled. "But can you handle this?"

Link was expecting her to jump at him. He was expecting her to try and tempt them. For the Goddess's sake, he even expected her to teleport away for a moment. But he didn't see it coming when she lifted her scimitar towards the ceiling, said a strange and foreign word that made a red streak of magic flew up onto the ceiling and spread out along its surface.

Link stared up at the ceiling as he heard the distinct sounds of rocks cracking and shifting. Mihra laughed, high and cold, as the ceiling began to cave in, dust falling from the cracks that spider webbed from the pinnacle of the ceiling towards the walls.

Ghirahim cursed behind him as rocks started to fall. Link cried out and staggered to the side, feeling the ground jump and crack beneath his feet. Mihra's form disappeared in a cloud of smoke that flew through the air and melted into the myriad of shadows now dancing across the walls.

The world started to cave in, the sun went out above them and all Link could hear was the chaos.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter killed me. I'm sorry if it shows. I had a major inspiration last night that would allow me to continue this story for many more chapters—reasonably so—but I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. Believe it or not, this was going to initially be the second to last chapter. <strong>

**Anyways, sorry for typos or whatever, and thanks to those who put this on alert or reviewed, they always make me smile. Even though I feel like I'm letting you guys down with this chapter. *feels sheepish* Sorry.**

**Now, review responses! Can you believe this story almost has 100 reviews? I'm so excited, I hope it hits it soon!**

**vsama—Oh, thank you! I was worried about Mihra, but that makes me feel better about her. :L Thanks for your review!**

**Royal9000—Oh, really? Thank you! I always thought double weapons made for, like you said, more deadly enemies. It seems a lot harder to defeat an enemy with two swords instead of one. I'm actually surprised you said last chapter was a cliffhanger, I didn't mean it to be…oops? Lucky mistake, then? That would be a very good ending—one I wasn't planning on, but seems like a good way to end things. I thought of that too, but it won't be much of a problem…anyways, thanks for the review!**

**meijosui—Thanks, dear! I like to think of Mihra as very seductive and flirtatious…Ghirahim's got his work cut out for him, huh? *grin* Thanks for the review!**

**Shadowstormwarrior—Oh, yay! Thank you! Of course I have feelings for Ghirahim, I'm madly in love with him. Is it not obvious? If it's not, it is now. *grin* Thanks, dear! **

**Chaotic Memory—Aw, thanks! I miss Fi too, she was a doll. Thanks for the review!**

**BanishedOne—Yes, perhaps. *grin* Everyone always underestimates Link, no matter what. Thanks! I hope it comes well enough…I've lost sleep trying to get it right, switching it around and around too many times to count. Thanks for the review! **

**Pilpols—Ah, thanks, dear! **

**Again, thank you all! We're nearing the end, but we're not there yet, unlike what I was expecting…sorry if I got you worked up, it's not quite here yet.**

**Love,**

**-Spirit-**


	18. Chapter 18

There were no words to describe the chaos that surrounded Ghirahim. There was only darkness, falling rocks, the smell of fear and thundering sounds. The ceiling was caving in and the dirt above it was showering down like rain.

The earth was buckling beneath his feet, and he staggered violently to the side as a slab of stone came crashing down next to him. He cried out and put his good arm above his head, feeling his wound throb and his knees buckle. Ghirahim couldn't think, not with the chaos that was deafening him. He didn't think as he dove under the slab that had nearly killed him, curled into a ball and held his neck to his chest.

The thunderous sounds of the catacombs caving in hit him and made his chest ache, while the dirt and dust sliced at his skin as it fell and swirled around from the ceiling. His protective slab above him shuddered as rocks fell on it and tumbled off, blocking off one side and propelled a wave of sharp stones and dirt onto his back, cutting him through his cape.

Ghirahim could have been curled there for hours for all he knew. He had no ways of knowing. But he knew that if he didn't move soon, the slab that was starting to crack above him would crush him once it fell. He cursed his bad luck, put his hand to his wound and healed the cut but not the internal damage. He didn't have time to test his flexibility, because he rapidly crawled out of his hidey-hole and tugged on the string of consciousness that connected him to the blade, and hopefully Link.

The feelings of his blade lying on cold stone came to him. Ghirahim let out another curse when he realized that Link hadn't been able to hold onto his blade. He hoped that he had at least managed to stay near it. He followed the string like he had his dust trail and hurried over large piles of rocks and dirt, his sharp vision just able to penetrate the suffocating darkness of the catacombs. He soon encountered an impassable wall of stone that reached up to the ground far above them.

Ghirahim realized with dread that his blade was on the other side of this wall. He threw himself against it and started to yell over the echoing thunders of the rocks cracking and falling. "LINK! LINK!"

The name became a chant, and he clung to it and screamed it until his throat felt like it was tearing. He screamed Link's name again and again, trying to find his friend on the other side of the piled rocks.

_There!_ Just above the rumbles of the collapse, the sound of a hoarse shout…there is was again! Ghirahim pricked his ears and heard another…_ "Ghirahim!"_

"LINK!" He screamed in return. "Where are you?"

_"Over here! Please, Ghirahim!"_

Ghirahim thanked whatever deity that was listening that he could pinpoint Link's position just by that shout. He hurried down the wall's length and threw himself to his knees with a groan. He lay down, hugging the wall, and saw a tiny hole before him. A tiny triangle between two slabs lying against each other, and he glimpsed a deep green cloth.

"Link!" He shouted through the hole, thrusting his arm through it and grasping at the air. "Link!"

His heart was thudding impossibly hard against his chest as the rocks reigned down with new vigor. At this rate, the entrance to the catacombs would be blocked off…they wouldn't be able to get out. He was jerked from his thoughts when a smaller hand grasped his own and squeezed it tight.

"Link!" He cried, feeling relief wash over him. Thank the Goddess he was alright, he would have never forgiven himself if Link had been injured…or worse.

"Ghirahim, you have to get out!"

"What? No! I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to!" Link's voice was hoarse with desperation and fear. "I can't move, and you're by the exit! You have to go!"

"No!" he yelled. "I can't! I can try to teleport…!"

It was no use, and Ghirahim knew that it was a futile effort. These catacombs were warded against magic. He was still wondering how Mihra had been able to shoot off a magic spark, but he pushed the thought away and gripped Link's sweaty hand tighter.

"I'm not going to leave you here to die!"

"This isn't up for argument!" Link screamed. "You have to go! I'll be fine!"

"You don't know that!"

"No one does! Just go! Ghirahim, my leg is trapped under a rock, I can't move! You have to get out! Both of us aren't going to die when you can get out!"

"_NO!" _Ghirahim screamed. He felt his eyes starting to water with a combination of his overwhelming emotions and the dust invading every orifice in his body. _"I...AM…NOT…LEAVING!"_

Link's grip squeezed tighter around his hand. "I don't want you to die!" He sounded like he was choking over his words. "Please, Ghirahim! You're blade is right by me—I can see it! Just go, and come back for me! You'll find me! Just go! Don't make me order you!"

That hurt more than anything. Ghirahim literally drew back at the threat, gaping. Link wouldn't order him to leave him for dead, would he…? He was technically Link's slave, now that Link had wielded him and, deep inside of him, he had accepted Link as his Master. Ghirahim choked over the lump in his throat and gasped out, "You wouldn't…! Please, Link!"

"Ghirahim, GO!" Link's hand wriggled out of his grip and pushed his arm back through the hole. Ghirahim cried out, but he knew he had to obey…no matter how much it hurt. His master had given him a direct order. He was in no position to disobey. "I'll come back for you!"

"I know you will! Go, now!"

Ghirahim choked out another promise before he forced himself to his feet and staggered to the exit. He didn't look back at the chaos, but he felt the aching in his chest…he had got what he wanted, hadn't he? A master that wasn't afraid to order him around. But just in the moment he had a Master that was…close to him, kind…he had ordered him away to save his worthless life.

Didn't he know that Ghirahim was disposable? That he should be the one trapped there, not Link. He should be the one…

Ghirahim choked on his emotions as he staggered down the crumbling halls, not bothering to try and follow the dust trail he had left. He was relying solely on his memories now, his feet more than his mind remembering the turns and patterns. The walls were dark and the dust was everywhere…he came across a hallway or two that he didn't need that were caved in…but the path out was clear…

The light came to him all too late. It was there, arms spread wide, but his heart was aching, his fingers were tingling, his feet were bleeding…he felt both whole and split in half, having a Master but being so far from his blade…he didn't stop until he had climbed the steps and collapsed in the dusty, soft grass in the overgrown clearing.

He swallowed down a sob and gulped in the air, the fresh air…his limbs were tingling and shaking…he felt the tears roll down his cheeks in thick streams, leaving a red trail down his otherwise filthy face.

Ghirahim curled forward, his forehead touching the grass as he rocked back and forth…back and forth…there was nothing but the pain and the grief and the agony of not knowing if Link was alive…

The sword spirit rapidly uncurled when he realized the rumbling had fallen silent and the ground had stopped shaking. There was only dead silence and the occasional tingle of a pebble bouncing off larger rocks. There were no birds singing, or wind blowing. There was only agony.

Agony and tears.

Bloody tears.

Ghirahim staggered to his feet, but knew, even in his haze of blood-red tears and dust, that he needed help. He screamed to the silent woods and grabbed his hair in large fistfuls. How could he get help? Link was there…alone and crushed…was there any way—

Ghirahim pulled his hands back in shock as he felt a soft-firm thing get crushed in his grip. He stared at the tiny flower that had been tucked behind his ear the entire time, now laying limply in his hands, one petal missing and stem crooked.

The sword spirit pressed his lips together, his vivid red lips highlighted with his tears, and teleported the flower to Hylia, in the Sealed Grounds. There was no time to go there himself, not now. He staggered forward and tried to reenter the still catacombs, but the entrance was blocked with a pile of black looking boulders. Ghirahim cursed and sat heavily on the steps, the heels of his palms digging into his traitorous eyes and rocking back and forth on the collapsed catacomb steps. He couldn't get a grip over himself, his heart was beating painfully against his ribs and the emotions were running rampant through his mind and stamping behind his eyes.

Ghirahim sensed more than felt the beam of light that appeared behind him. He stood up so quickly his spine might have snapped and turned around, back ramrod straight and eyes staring forcefully at Hylia and the red-haired boy.

The girl didn't speak, not immediately. She looked at his state of disarray, the red streaks on his cheeks and his torn cape, his entire body covered head to toe with dust. She saw the rocks barring the way and said, softly, "Link."

"We need to find him," Ghirahim said jerkily. He turned his harsh, maddened glare to the other boy and ordered, "Come here!"

Groose, for his credit, didn't snap back at the insane looking sword spirit. He hurried forwards but stepped back at the outlandish request that came next. "Take my hand!"

"I'm not going to hold your hand!" Groose stuttered, looking put off and shocked at the order.

"I need to find my sword!" Ghirahim hissed. "I'm so far away that I could completely enter my blade, and I won't be able to get out of it unless Link is there to call for me! If you have my hand and hold it hard enough, then I won't be able to leave my body! Now, listen, if my toes or fingers begin to disappear, hold my hand tighter—even break my fingers if you have to! Don't hesitate to cause me any pain to keep me here, understand? Link's life could depend on this!"

Groose's face steeled and he nodded. Ghirahim went to one knee, one hand on the ground and one held up, waiting for Groose to take it. The boy closed his hand over Ghirahim's, wincing at the chilly temperature of his skin.

Ghirahim closed his eyes and was almost instantly transported into the bright expanse of his sword. He had no senses here, besides sensing. He could sense the tight area around him, and the heat source lying still near his blade. He was about to pinpoint where he was lying when a sharp pain radiated from his physical body to his consciousness, jerking him back with a gasp. Oh yeah, his finger was broken.

_Still four more,_ he thought grimly, throwing himself back at his task. His mind worked furiously, and just as his third finger was broken he managed to summon a beacon and place it on the ground where he felt his blade was.

He opened his eyes and fell sideways, his vision spinning and hand—not to mention head, feet and torso—throb with pain. Ghirahim didn't have the time or energy to glare at the boy who had broken his pinky, fourth and middle finger. The girl took his good hand without his consent and helped him stand. She didn't let go of him when she started running towards the red beacon that shone up towards the sky.

Ghirahim hissed impatiently, reached back and grabbed the red-haired boy's shirt and teleported them there. They arrived in a split second, the girl barely breaking stride while the boy fell and spat up his lunch. Ghirahim paid them no mind, because his eyes were trained on the hour glass figure standing in a rather large hole between the collapsed boulders, a black smoke crawling around them before disappearing into the rocks.

The figure turned towards him and an arm lifted up, waving a victorious banner back and forth. Ghirahim's heart clenched when he realized two things.

One was the figure was Mihra, hips swinging and voice raised in triumph.

Two was that the banner was Link's hat.

* * *

><p><strong>I have no words for this chapter. Besides that I tried to make it seem chaotic, but that doesn't matter. Did you guys like? Let me know!<strong>

**And speaking of that, OVER 100 REVIEWS! I can't BEGIN to explain how happy this makes me! My most popular story only had 60 some reviews, but 100! It's a milestone! Thank you guys, SO MUCH! I love you all!**

**Now I get to respond them! **

**petitie-neko—Oh, I don't mind! And just so you know, you were my 100****th**** reviewer! *glomp* Anyways, thank you! *grins***

**vsama—Indeed. I hope you like it, I lost sleep over this ending I have planned. Thank you!**

**Alphawolfy288—Um…? Thank you for the offer, but no, thank you. I don't have any need for another character this deep into the story, though he does sound rather intriguing. **

**Pilpols—Oh, yes. Thanks dear! *grin***

**Spartan13576—I don't mind, dear. Well, Demise, I don't like you for the way you treated Ghirahim, and even though you have a beast hairstyle, Ganondorf's the only ultra villain for me. Thanks for the review!**

**meijosui—Oh, indeed! I can see Fi saying that…anywho, Mihra is quite badass. Thanks, dear! *grin***

**increak96—Thank you! Oh, sorry dear, I have plans for Mihra, but after I'm done you can have your go at her. *grin* Who doesn't?**

**arrowriver—I hate when my contact hurts! Mine fell out during my English class, and I was half blind for the entire class. Oh, I don't mind, talking about contacts, they're the one thing I can rant about for ages. Thanks for reading!**

**Shadowstormwarrior—Ah, thank you! I'm sorry for the side effects, but I hope that you're not offended if I take it as a compliment. Oh, I'd glomp him like nobody's business. Totally fangirl-stalker crazy. He would never leave my basement again. Thank you!**

**Wow…I've replied to 108 reviews! I've loved every moment of it. Thank you guys!**

**Here's another drawing of Ghirahim's marks. Please ignore his gimpy feet and too-large head. Just take out the spaces.**

**http:/ spiritoftherose. /#/d4qj9il**

**Until next time, take my love.**

**-Spirit-**


	19. Chapter 19

A red haze descended over Ghirahim's vision. After the second of shock, an overwhelming wave of rage overcame him. He screamed the rage and fury that was washing over him, taking several long strides towards the silhouetted form as he did.

One second he was running towards her, the next he was within slapping distance of Mihra, arms outstretched and fury in his eyes. His hands were extended toward her neck, and there was no way she could get away from this death he was so ready to deal her.

Mihra was jumping back, arms outstretched and head tipped back, practically _offering_ her pale neck to him. She was laughing, high and tinkling, even as his hands wrapped around her neck. But his fingers slid through her flesh like it was smoke, and left them empty. She landed many feet away from him, neck intact and laugh still tingling on her black lips.

Before he could lunge again, she cried, "Isn't this the cutest?" She brandished Link's scuffed hat and grabbed the hem, tugging it on her head. She flipped it over her shoulder and taunted, "A pretty memento, don't you think? Of the Hero you couldn't save!" She laughed, high and sharp before her body turned to black smoke, whirled around him in thick tendrils and then melted away into the shadows.

Ghirahim swore rather violently before he vowed several passionate oaths promising Mihra's painful and unforgiving death. He growled and turned on the spot, immediately running towards the beacon he had placed on the ground. He jumped down into the ditch Mihra had stood in, and felt the tingle of remnant magic stick to his skin, and he realized Mihra had summoned Link's hat, not grabbed it off of him physically. The thought relieved him—she hadn't touched his Hero.

Ghirahim knelt down on the boulder he stood on and peered down the dark hole before him, that was nestled between a large piece of sunken earth and the overturned boulder he knelt on. He called down the gaping hole, "Link? Link, can you hear me?"

There was no reply. Ghirahim's heart pounded harshly against his ribs, and he called down once more, louder, but there was no returning call, or even a whisper of one. He tugged at the stones surrounding the hole, wincing when some crumbled and fell down into it. The hole was large enough for his shoulders to fit through if he twisted and turned by the time he ceased. Ghirahim didn't even hesitate to stick his feet into it and start sliding down.

His hips slipped through and the earth was around his stomach when his feet brushed against a slab that was jutting out under the opening. He shifted his feet onto it and held onto the grass, holding one arm up and shimmying down into the broken earth. Ghirahim murmured a soft word after he was completely submerged into the dark ground, making a tiny white flame dance above his head, lighting his way.

Below him, the tunnel widened and grew in size, with pieces of stone, earth and slabs of ceiling further down jut out like teeth. It was strange, obviously chaos, but it looked like it had been built specifically for someone to climb down…like the catacombs had made sure to fall a certain way so its floor was still reachable. The sword spirit let himself smile for a brief moment before he began his descent.

The way down was harsh, the soil loose around him and stones occasionally slipping from the walls and bouncing their way down, creating anxious noises as they fell. Ghirahim's breathing was a callous sound in his ears, grating on him as his fingers dug into loose soil and his feet were cut constantly against sharp, broken stones. He never did stop, and every ten breaths that rasped in his ears he called Link's name, softly. His broken fingers were throbbing, but that didn't stop him in the slightest. He slipped several times, once so dramatically when a piece of stone cracked under his weight and he was left dangling by his hands on a bit of ceiling stone. The rocks fell down, slamming against the sides and bringing other rungs of the earth ladder down with it.

Ghirahim hung for several seconds, cursing his bad luck, before his toes caught the earth and dug into a small nook the rock had left in the earth. He took several raspy breaths before he continued down, arms burning and blood dripping. He climbed for many minutes after that near fall before his toes touched the catacomb floor, cracked and jarred from the cave but intact.

He let his arms fall and he took several deep breaths, looking up to the hole when he got both feet on the ground. The hole was small—from this distance, small enough to be covered by his thumb if he closed one eye—and a blinding white. The white was blotted out when a body covered it, calling down the fissure, "Ghirahim?"

_Hylia. Took her long enough, didn't it?_ He thought disdainfully before calling back up, "I'm at the bottom. I'm going to look for Link."

"Alright," she returned. "Keep us updated, okay?"

"Sure thing," he muttered, increasing the size of the flame above his head so he could see around him. There was dirt falling from the fallen rocks like trickling water, constant streams from the earth above the stones they were formed on. There was barely any room to maneuver, with stones and slabs of grey colored stone blocking his way. He looked around in a complete circle, calling out, "Link? Can you hear me?" Again, there was no response, but he had to keep trying, right?

He started forwards, hands tracing against the stones, making sure to always keep an eye on the stones around him so if another collapse was imminent he could stop it with his magic until he located Link. He didn't even have to close his eyes to sense his blade; the tugging sensation in his chest was good enough. The tug pulled him forwards and thankfully through clear paths. He hoped desperately that the way he had come down was on the opposite side of the wall that had separated him from Link and his sword. If he was on the same side as before, he wasn't sure what he would do.

Ghirahim ducked under a large, precariously set slab and stopped short. Right before him was his blade, glowing and the inner light pulsing in beat to his heart. He walked towards it, tilting his head to the right to avoid a sharp looking stone, and near the blade itself, he saw a boot.

A brown leather boot. He hurried towards it, relieved to see a leg attached to it. But he only saw one…as he neared, he saw a heavy piece of ceiling had pinned the other, from the mid thigh down. Ghirahim winced and knelt down next to Link's body, finding his torso, arms and head rather quickly. The Hero's hand was extended towards the wall that had separated them, the fissure they had communicated through closed off.

Ghirahim pressed his fingers to Link's neck, holding his breath until he felt that beautiful, thriving pulse. Link was alive. He let out an audible sigh and combed his fingers through Link's dirty, dusty hair before he dipped his head down to look at his face. His eyes were closed, lips parted—it was hard to distinguish color in the strange white light his flame gave off, but his lips did look like they were tinted black.

He started to talk to Link, as if he was awake. "Link, I'm going to try to see if I can move this boulder off of your leg," he said, softly. "If I can't, well…we'll cross that bridge when he come to it. Hold on."

He studied the boulder, and to his dismay, saw it was practically a vital column in the fallen stones' new formation. It held up the slab that was shielding Link's body, but crushing his leg at the same time. Ghirahim winced, thinking rapidly. He couldn't move the boulder, but could he move Link's body? Could he teleport them out? Ghirahim knew he couldn't when the catacombs were collapsing, but now that they were completely caved in, he knew the wards that had prevented magic had fallen as well. The tiny flame hovering above his head was testament to that.

It was very risky, but there was no other option. He would have to apply equal pressure that the boulder was to Link's crushed leg with his magic until he could be in a more open space to heal it correctly. He would also have to make sure they teleported somewhere safe, and off of the catacomb ruins in case of another cave in. He also needed to make sure his blade was safely recovered. Ghirahim swallowed and whispered, "I'll be right back, Link."

He stood and rapidly made his way back to the rock 'ladder' he had used to get down. Ghirahim craned his neck back and called up, "I found him!"

He heard Zelda and the other boy exclaim out in relief, but he continued before they could get too riled up. "I can't get him out, though, there's a boulder pinning his leg. I'm going to teleport us out. Get off of the catacomb ruins, they might collapse, understand?"

"We'll get off," Zelda called down. "Where are you going to teleport?"

"At the entrance," he shouted. He turned before he heard her response, and had vanished into the depths of the catacombs just as she called back. He knelt back down by Link and picked up a stone near him. It was twice as big as his fist, but he used it to snag the crosspiece of his sword and drag it towards Link. Ghirahim's tongue poked from his lips as he moved it, careful not to let it touch his skin. His blade nudge Link's side and Ghirahim reached up to grab Link's hand and conform his fingers around the hilt.

"Don't let go," he warned the unconscious man. He closed his eyes, weaved the magic around Link's leg, gripped his hand and opposite side tightly, and teleported them away.

* * *

><p>Zelda arrived at the clearing that was the entrance to the catacombs before Groose. She had always been the faster than him, even though Link could always best her without trying. She stopped short when she saw Ghirahim's telltale red cape hunched over a dusty, still body and the glow of white and red diamonds around one of the body's legs.<p>

She hurried forward and around him, and looked at the body. Link was in bad shape, with cuts and bruises all over his dusty, nearly brown skin. His hair was plastered to his face and a very dark brown, while his tunic was nearly black with the amount of dirt now staining it. His left leg was crushed and bloody, but Ghirahim was working diligently over the wound.

Zelda bit her lip, suddenly reverted back to her Skyloft, child-like state of mind at the sight of her best friend near death. None of the Goddess's memories helped her remain calm. "What can I do?" she whispered just as Groose barged into the clearing.

Ghirahim jerked his head towards the white sword near her feet, still loosely clasped in Link's hand. "Take that away," he said jerkily. "I can't think with it so close."

Zelda nodded hurriedly. "Okay," she said before gingerly picking up the sword. She marveled at how familiar it felt, and the lightness of the sword itself. She noticed Ghirahim stiffen visibly as her hand closed around the hilt, and she softly apologized before she said, "I'll get water, too," and hurried off.

Ghirahim's hands hovered over Link's leg, weaving his magic through the obliterated bone, torn muscle and bloody flesh. It was hard work, reshaping the entire entity of his leg, but he never faltered and worked until his vision was filled with dancing black spots and his fingers were shaking. Only then did he take a break, rocking back and rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes irritably. He sensed the Goddess reincarnate set his blade down quite some distance away and pick it back up several long moments later. He hissed at the sensation before closing his eyes and pulling energy from the surrounding flora and using it to reconstruct Link's leg.

Hylia returned a minute later with a full water sack and his blade still safely in hand. She asked, "Can Groose hold your blade?" He grunted in affirmative, not wavering in his task.

Groose, for his credit, took Ghirahim's blade with a mixture of care and caution. His grip was strong and firm, if a bit sweaty and dusty. Ghirahim shuddered at the feeling before returning to his task. His breathing was getting louder and harsher as he depleted every ounce of expendable energy in his body, and then some. As he worked, Zelda let water trickle over Link's face and into his mouth, both hydrating him and washing the dirt off of his face. It was more an act of care than of usefulness, but it was better than doing nothing.

Zelda washed off the dirt from around his eyes, cheeks and lips, and she was gently smearing it away from his eyebrows when Groose spoke up from the sidelines, watching the two work awkwardly, blade still in hand.

"What's wrong with his mouth?"

Zelda looked up at Link's mouth and stared at what she saw for a moment before taking a surprised breath in. The gasp made Ghirahim open his eyes and look at her before his eyes settled on Link's partially washed face.

Underneath the dirt, Link's lips were, like Ghirahim had thought he had seen in the catacombs, tinted black. They were parted and dark, an unhealthy and frightening shade. Ghirahim even thought his skin was graying. He looked no better than dead.

Ghirahim remembered the black smoke that had crept down the hole before Mihra had waved Link's hat like a victory banner. He realized, with dread, that Mihra had cursed him before he had had a chance to get there.

He stared at Link's black lips and closed eyes. Ghirahim wondered why it hadn't been him.

He wasn't as important to him as Link was.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry for not updating last night! I got the Ocarina of Time and got a little to enthusiastic about playing it, and by the time I started to write it was eight thirty and I had a severe case of writer's block. The kind that makes you want to throw your laptop across the room and scream. <strong>

**Anyways, thanks to those who reviewed! I'm literally speechless at how many reviews I got last chapter! So many…ah, just thank you all! This little journey is coming to a close soon…the end is close. I've lost sleep over this ending; I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. Now, to review responses! (Yay!)**

**Shadowstormwarrior—Aw, thanks dear! I'm taking it as a compliment that you dislike Mihra. She is a baddie, after all. *grin* Perhaps I will, or not, but I assure you, your opinion matters very much to me. All of my reviewers' opinions do. Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy!**

**CakeStealer—Thanks! I'm glad that you think it was chaotic, it was what I was aiming for. I'm sorry again for the delay, but I hope this makes up for it. Thank you again!**

**Pilpols—You can have a crack at her (at least I'm assuming) after I'm done, love. *grin***

**Spartan13576—Not preposterous. You have lovely hair, Demise, but Ganondorf is the ultravillan for me. Oh, dear, I didn't know your name was Joe either. You learn something new everyday, huh? *shrug* Thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoy!**

**BanishedOne—Thank you! I hope I don't disappoint, it's getting to the crux now! Is it the Red song? I really did like that one, I listened to it several times. Oooh, I'm excited to see what it looks like! Thanks again!**

**increak96—Ah, indeed. Though I have a feeling he won't be killing her just because she took his hat. *wink* Thank you, dear, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Alphawolfy288 (both reviews) —While I thank you for the offer, I really have no use of a new character—and one as detailed as yours—in this story. There's no sacred item for Link to get, or even a space that Horo could come in as a minor character. I'm honored that you would offer me one of your own characters, but there is no place for him here. Thank you, though. I'm too close to the end to shift it around now, even for a small minor character. Like I've said, I've lost sleep trying to get this ending right, and I want to keep it as it is.**

**arrowriver—I think you're the only one to compliment the suspense. I hope you get your contact back, I can't stand being half-blind or blind at all. Thanks for your review!**

**Royal9000—Oh, thank you! *grin* I'm so relieved to hear that, I was kind of worried the rock slide and "bonding moment" was almost glossed over, and not enough to get someone anxious…and you did call it! Mihra is a cheater, I admit it very readily. Probably, but we can't be sure, huh? Ah, you're the only reviewer that caught on—the scene you see in your mind is nearly **_**exactly**_** the same to mine. Mihra was trying to scare Ghirahim by waving Link's hat, to show him that he had died and it was a memento of sorts. Thanks for your review, I always enjoy reading what you have to say!**

**meijosui—No, he's not, but he hasn't come out unscathed. Funny you should say that, I'm currently playing the Ocarina of Time, and though it does throw me off it's a good time. Thanks for your review, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Tapix—Oh, dear, let me help you up. It's not over yet. And you mustn't die, not yet! We're not over yet! Thanks for the review!**

**Princess-of-Your-Doom95—First things first, I love your username. Next, he's not dead. He's about a step above it, but I'll get into that next chapter. Thank you, dear! I have to agree with you, but I think Ghirahim, for me, might even surpass Link…but don't tell anyone, they might call heresy. Thank you for your review and alert!**

**Piezelle (all reviews)—Ah, thank you, dear! For all of your lovely compliments, that is. And I don't mind being spammed, at least not with reviews. I knew I couldn't be the only Midna lover out there, she was my first companion (I got into Zelda through TP) and I love her to death…anyways, thanks again! I hope this sates you, for a little while at least. Thanks for every one of your reviews, and I hope you enjoy!**

**petite-neko-*hug* Ahh! Excitement! You're my first ever 100****th**** too, just saying. Thank you for your review, and I hope you enjoy! *grin***

**Wow. That is A LOT of reviews! I've taken up nearly a page and a half on word just responding to all of them! Thanks again, and until next time, take my love and my words.**

**-Spirit-**


	20. Chapter 20

_There was a long corridor before him, stretching out in the darkness with only a tiny rectangle of light at the far end. Ghirahim walked forward, but every step he took the light shrunk as if he had taken three back. He started to run, sprinting his way towards the light…though it only grew further and further away until it was a tiny speck. The light was a mere pinprick, and Ghirahim, standing now in the darkness alone and still, wondered if it had even existed at all._

_The darkness shifted and blurred until he was standing in a room full of reflective glass…they were all around him, boxing him in, and as Ghirahim stared directly in front of him, he saw not his purified self, but his demonic form, smiling cruelly at him even as he gaped. _

_He turned away only to stare in another pane of glass only to see his dark true form, glowing white eyes staring into his. Ghirahim cried out and turned around again, trying not to focus on the whirling multitude of forms he possessed, ranging from his demon form in red cape to his terrified looking purified form. Ghirahim stopped turning, pressing his hands into his eyes, not wanting to have to look at his horrible self._

_Tentatively, he raised his head and looked up, not wanting to see what was there…but what was before him wasn't his demon form, or his dark true form, or even his true purified form…it was a man with pale skin, dark fluffy hair, black eyes and in baggy clothes. There were tiny red slashes under his eyes and on the back of his hands, like scars._

_Ghirahim stared at the human form of his purified self. The reflection followed his movements unlike the other forms. It was him…but…_

_His humanoid form blurred before his eyes and bled at the edges, forming into new shapes and surroundings. Instead of the glass room, he now stood at the base of a grassy hill at twilight. The long grass was waving in the temperamental wind, and as Ghirahim's eyes rose up to the top of the hill, he saw two figures standing at the horizon. One was distinctly taller than the other, but even as he watched the taller knelt and bowed his head, tugging the shorter figure's hands to rest on his forehead. He couldn't hear what they were saying from this distance, but a light blazed around both figures and when it dissipated, only one stood, alone…_

A scream rang through the silence, and Ghirahim jerked up with a gasp. He looked rapidly around, trying to distinguish shapes in the darkness. He was sitting up on cold stone, a thin blanket draped over his body…he remembered he was in the back room of the Sealed Temple, where Hylia had apparently spent thousands of years in a deep sleep. Ghirahim was just wondering if he had imagined the scream when another rang out, to his right.

Ghirahim turned towards the noise and his eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness to see a body thrashing on the ground. He hurriedly crawled over and his eyes fell upon the scrunched, pained face of Link, with his arms and legs jerking and thrashing like he was fighting off invisible enemies. Even in the darkness, Ghirahim could distinguish the dark colored lips.

Immediately, Ghirahim grasped Link's flailing arms and held them at his sides, wincing when Link screamed again, his back arching and muscles straining against Ghirahim's grip. The sword spirit cried out when one hand was torn free and hit him hard across the cheek. He grabbed the hand before it could hit him again and pinned it once again. His friend strained against his grip and cried out again.

Ghirahim closed his eyes and tilted his head away from Link, hating himself for holding Link down as he cried and screamed out in fear. He looked behind him, over his shoulder, when he heard Hylia's voice.

"What's wrong with him? Ghirahim?"

"Go!" he snapped at her, turning his head to just see her out of the corner of his eye. He was glad his body was shielding Link's convulsing body from her view. She may be the Goddess, but she didn't have to see her friend in the midst of a never ending nightmare. She approached anyways and covered her mouth when she heard Link cry out, pounding his hands against the stone even when a few angry looking tears fell from his eyes.

"Ghirahim, what's happening?"

Ghirahim turned back to Link and slung one leg over his body, knees at his hips and hands holding his forearms down as he straddled the Hero. It gave him more leverage to hold down Link's limbs.

"It's a nightmare," he grunted. He felt Link's strength starting to wane but he didn't let go. "Or a seizure."

"Can I do anything?"

"Stop yapping in my ear for one!" Ghirahim snapped angrily. Zelda backed off immediately, eyes trained on Link's form as he cried out again, thrashing his head to the side. Groose appeared then and surveyed the scene before he gently tugged Zelda out of the room and to the doorway, where she could still watch but be out of the way.

Ghirahim closed his eyes and endured through the rest of the convulsion. Eventually Link stopped fighting, his head lolling to one side and tears running in uneven streams down his face. His arms lay limp in Ghirahim's grip now, and the sword spirit gently released him and slid off of Link's body. He slumped against the wall and put his head in his hands.

He only raised it when he heard Hylia ask a soft question. She had journeyed back into the room after Link had stopped convulsing. "What's wrong with him, Ghirahim?"

Ghirahim sighed and let his head hit against the wall, watching the ceiling as he tiredly explained. "He was cursed by Mihra before we could get to him. That's why his lips are black and his skin is grey…the curse is sapping away at his strength and replacing it with dark intentions and dark magic. It's invading his mind even as we speak…the nightmares are testament to that. He's trying to fight them off."

"Can he?"

"If he's strong enough," Ghirahim murmured. "And his heart good enough."

"Link is strong," Groose said, for once, softly. "He can do anything."

Ghirahim closed his eyes. "I hope so. This is a nasty curse…to make matters worse, only Mihra can lift it. Either that or Link has to overcome it himself, but that takes legendary strength to conquer such darkness. But if anyone could do it, it would be Link…but I'm just not sure if this is something Link can best."

* * *

><p>The days passed with excruciating slowness. Ghirahim was never seen away from Link's side. Sometimes when he knew the others weren't within earshot he could talk to Link. He would tell him about experiences as both a child and Demise's slave, and about the feelings he had felt when Link had rescued him and treated him with such kindness…<p>

He would also endure the long nightmares. They came at any time in short, sporadic bursts. Link would start to thrash and convulse, screaming out and hitting anything that came too close to him. Ghirahim, in an effort to not let Link hurt himself, would pin his arms and straddle his hips until the convulsions ceased.

Ghirahim sat unwaveringly by his side, healing his crushed leg bit by bit when the strength came to him, and tried to soothe him when it became clear the Hero was struggling with his inner demons, the nightmares that refused to leave him alone. Ghirahim knew the type of spell Mihra had used. It wouldn't kill Link, not immediately, but it would keep him a deep sleep that was filled with his worst fears. It was a never ending nightmare until Link overcame them, a counter curse was enacted, or Link's mind and body would give out under the strain and then die.

Ghirahim cursed Mihra over and over for using such a barbaric curse. It was rare, dangerous and very strong—and Ghirahim didn't know if Link could overcome it alone. He sat through the tremors and the cries, he held down his convulsing limbs throughout the seizures, endured the screams and sobs with an iron heart…how could anyone overcome such horrors?

Hylia and Groose sat with him, on occasion, only to leave when the pain in Link's torn voice and agony on his features became too much for them to bear. Ghirahim sat through it all, however, because he knew it was his duty.

Link was his Master, and he was ill. It was Ghirahim's obligation, as both a servant and a friend, to make sure he became well again and wasn't alone in his greatest time of need. So Ghirahim endured.

He thought about the catacombs and his failure there. He thought about his old life and his now. He thought of Fi and occasionally his many wanderings throughout the garden, but usually by the time he had allowed himself to think that far back Link would scream or convulse, jerking him back to the present. He thought and thought, he sat and endured and rarely slept.

Ghirahim thought about his dream sometimes. He thought about his human form and how fragile it looked, he thought of the never ending corridor and the suffocating darkness, of the silhouettes atop a grassy knoll and how one disappeared amidst a brilliant light. Ghirahim wondered if his mind was just wandering to and fro as he slept, or if the dreams were not dreams at all.

Many days after the catacombs collapse, he woke up from a harsh, pained scream and held Link down as he thrashed. When he stopped, Ghirahim unwound his long legs and walked precariously out of the room to find Zelda picking sadly at a beat up looking harp. He curtly asked her for what he knew he needed and she handed it over without question, watching him make his determined way back to Link's side.

She put the harp down and went outside to sit with Groose. Ghirahim went inside to sit with Link. Or what was left of him.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim woke naturally for the first time in days. He actually didn't know how long it had been since the catacombs, it could be anything from five days to two weeks for all he knew. But what he did know was that when his eyes opened and he sat up, Link was lying still—excluding his twitching fingers and grimacing lips. His forehead was sweaty when Ghirahim felt for his temperature with the back of his hand.<p>

The sword spirit yawned, stretching his arms above his head before reaching beside him and brushing his fingers over the cold, reassuring dagger he had procured from the Goddess several days before. The dagger was no longer mere Skyloftian steel, but hardened and black from Ghirahim's magic. It would poison any demon it cut…and with the amount of magic Ghirahim had poured into it, he was confident that it could kill one, too.

He didn't grab it, however. Ghirahim had lived a long time, but he knew the difference between caution and paranoia. He never left Link's side, and if Mihra dared to enter the Sealed Temple, he would be here and she would not be able to touch him. That he was sure of.

Ghirahim traced his fingers over Link's eyebrows and through his still messy, uncombed hair in a soothing gesture. The Hero, who had been stirring restlessly, calmed to the slightest degree under his touch. The sword spirit allowed himself a smile before he rolled his head to get the kinks out, hearing a satisfying crack.

As he was preparing to continue his long vigil over Link, he felt the slightest shift behind him—a tiny, miniscule sound that alerted him to danger. But the warning came a moment too late, because the next thing Ghirahim knew, ice cold hands were wrapped around his neck and dragging him away from Link and the dagger.

Ghirahim gasped, immediately grabbing onto the hands and trying to pry them off, kicking his legs as he was dragged to the center of the room and slammed to the ground. Sharp nails dug into his flesh as he tried to call out, and a heavy body straddled his hips even as he continued to choke. His eyes locked with Mihra's elated black eyes, glowing with excitement.

She leaned down, her black lips ghosting over his pointed ear and hair tickling his face. Ghirahim tried to call out, but her hands prevented any sound to escape besides a hoarse, breathy sound. "Got you," she whispered, biting the tip of his ear playfully. "You're too cute when you sleep, honestly. I'm beginning to see why His Majesty wanted you in his bed, you are quite adorable when you're not resisting."

Ghirahim thrust his hips up, trying to buck her off, but her grip was strong and her legs were firmly panted on either side of his hips. His own nails dragged down her hands and between the creases of her ice cold fingers, trying to pry them off so he could breathe. His mouth was open in a vain attempt to inhale. He cursed the fact that he still needed oxygen to remain conscious.

Tiny black spots started to dance in front of his eyes as Mihra continued to choke him, mercilessly. His magic wouldn't respond to his calls now, his focus was scattered and his energy all but drained…he was defenseless before her, and now she was going to finish the job. But before he passed out, her grip loosened to the smallest degree, just enough to suck in a tiny breath before it tightened again and she started breathing into his ear again.

"I'm going to kill you," she whispered. "You're going to lie here next to him, and when I lift the curse he'll believe he did it himself…that curse is a funny one, isn't it? I can bend his thoughts to think anything I want him to. He'll think he killed you…and while he's in despair, I'll have the Triforce all to myself…imagine the possibilities! Oh, if only you could be around to witness it…a shame, really. But your death is necessary for the greater plan, Ghirahim. Good bye, darling. It was fun to toy with you again…if only it could have lasted, huh?"

Her grip tightened again, and Ghirahim stared into her eyes even as he felt the light leave his.

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><p><strong>Evil place to end, huh? *grin* To make it even worse, I'm going up to a ski resort on the weekend and I'm not coming back till Sunday…I won't be able to update till then, maybe even as late as Monday night. I'm sorry for the bad timing, I didn't plan it, honest!<strong>

**Anyways, I just want to thank all of those who reviewed or put me and/or my story on alert, and read my story in general. It's coming to a close…two chapters left in the least, three at max. I don't think I'll know what to do with myself once it's over…perhaps I'll create a collection of oneshot ideas from this universe. I have so many ideas and separate endings that it's ridiculous.**

**Now for review responses!**

**gwendolyndark—Oh, indeed! Angst like this is my forte…I love writing it. Eh, they're not too big and bothersome. Thanks for your review, dear!**

**Princess-of-Your-Doom95—Of course, dear! And that he is…you'll find out soon enough! Thanks for your review!**

**destroying tokyo—That it is. Thank you! The curse is a strong one…and a tragedy of sorts is on the horizon, just so you have warning. Thanks for your review!**

**arrowriver—Awesome! Oh, thank you! I love cliff hangers, but not reading them. Thanks for the review, love!**

**Spartan13576—Thank you! Oh gosh, not Muscle Man. I watched one episode of the Regular Show and nearly died. Ah, you can call me SFD if you so wish, and thanks for the cookies! I do love them! I will, it seems the Ocarina is killing me. I can't memorize to save my life… *is sheepish* Thanks for your review!**

**petite-neko—I love hearing from you! *grin* I don't need to be told twice, it's a very fun game! Thank you for your review!**

**dbzfan8—Ah, thank you! Well, I have no sequel planned, sorry love. I can see what you're saying…I'm just not sure if there's space for it this late in the story. Maybe I accomplished that with the mirror dream sequence, but I'm not totally sure. *shrugs* As am I, dear, as am I. Thanks for the review, I love hearing from new people!**

**increak96—Ahh, I hope I sated your needs! Link is such a scapegoat, poor thing. But it's because all of us authors know he can withstand pretty much of anything. Thank you very much!**

**Breaking-Benjamin-rules—Ah, thank you! Oh, Fang, I have a love hate relationship with you my good man. Anyways, thanks for your review!**

**Tapix—Oh, wow! Hopefully not, though…like I said before, I might come out with some small oneshots in the Bloodstained universe, but I'm not sure, so don't hold me to it. And you may, please! I nearly jump for joy whenever someone draws fanart of Ghirahim in his Bloodstained form! Tell me whenever you finish, and thank you for the review!**

**Pilpols—Oh, we're not completely out of the woods yet, my dear. It could have gone worse, yes, but in my opinion, it's going worse now. Thanks for your review!**

**Thank you all for your dedication to this! I appreciate it very much, and I hope you all enjoy the ending I have planned. Until next time, take my love.**

**-Spirit-**


	21. Chapter 21

**Just a warning for the faint of heart. This is a gruesome chapter, rather bloody and torture oriented. Don't read it if you're squeamish, yes? –S**

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><p>Link was afraid to open his eyes.<p>

After all he had seen so far, he didn't want to see what could be before him. He had seen so many horrors already that left him trembling just by the thought of them, but they only seemed to get worse and worse. He couldn't imagine what would be worse than what he had just endured, but somehow whatever was causing these horrible things delivered an even worse reality.

Heat was caressing his skin wherever he had landed. Jumping from one horror to the next was disorienting and worse than teleporting, and he wasn't sure if any of them were true or if he had finally gone crazy.

With much trepidation, Link opened his eyes and stumbled back at the sight. He was standing in the plaza of Skyloft, facing the bazaar and Academy. The heat he felt was from the raging fires billowing up from both, eating at the sky and exhaling great plumes of black smoke. The heat transformed from a light caress to a full on wall of heat, scorching his skin and biting at his face.

Link cried out and tripped over his own feet and landed on his rear. The very stone his hands touched were hot to the touch. It was then the screams started. Either they had started just then or they had finally broken through the haze that covered his mind, but nevertheless, their shrill sounds pierced right through him.

The sound of the dying…the sound of the _burning…_Link covered his ears at the sound, but somehow he could still hear the sounds of his friends burning alive all around him…calls for loved ones, children, friends all the same…there was only death and fire and the overwhelming smell of burning flesh…

He looked above him, to the burning sky, and saw a Loftwing bearing a badly burnt man tumble towards the surface, feathers burning and leaving a smoky trail behind, dropping their screams and screeches with the smoke.

A familiar and terrifying chuckle broke through the unbearable sounds of the fire and screams. Link whipped around, still on the ground, and cried out at the sight before him. His limbs were paralyzed with fear and he couldn't move…

There stood, in proud glory, Ghirahim and Mihra, with the former in a white tight jumpsuit and grey skin and the former in tight black garments tied together with red thread. Ghirahim was a demon, with malicious black eyes and a cruel smile. Mihra was hanging off of him, arm around his lean shoulders and fingers twisting his white hair. His arm was around her, his nimble fingers stroking her skin between the threads over her sides. In his other hand a tiny flame jumped from on finger to the next.

"Oops," he said with a sadistic smile. Mihra laughed, leaning into him and her laugh ringing through Link's ears even as he felt himself being pulled away from his burning home and to wherever the horrible thing controlling this nightmare wanted him to be next. It literally felt like someone had thrust their hand into his chest, grabbed his spine, and yanked him forward. Link cried out and felt himself being thrown to cold stone. The sounds of his burning home and screams of his friends vanished and was replaced with silence, and the sound of water dripping into a shallow puddle on stone.

Link didn't look around this time. He was too scared to see. He curled himself forward and pressed his forehead to the cool stone, choking back sobs and despair…his fingers dug into his sides and grabbed at his ribs through his skin as he rocked to the rhythm of the dripping water…there was only despair and agony left for him now…

The Hero screamed out only once. He screamed to the stone and heard it echo; feeling it hit against him again once it caressed the walls. The sound both hurt and healed.

Long did the Hero rock and cry tearlessly, but he didn't know how long he actually lay on the stone floor. He took deep breaths through his nose and stared at the flawless grey stone before his eyes, gathering up his courage to form a tight shield around his heart. He was hurting, oh so badly, but he could fight it…he could _win…_

Taking one final deep breath to steel himself, Link raised his head and slowly his eyes followed. At first he saw a long, tall grey stone room, of which he was in the middle, and a wall that was directly in front of him. It was relatively thin but very tall…

And streaked with red. From the base of the wall up, red splatters traced vivid fights on the faceless grey stone and thickened as his eyes rose higher, until he saw a body hanging from dark chains near the middle of ceiling and floor. Their arms were extended slightly, distended their shoulders, with their feet hanging lifelessly and crimson blood tracing pretty veins from their wrists and chest to their toes, the blood dripping down in a peaceful rhythm to hit the stone floor.

Their head was down; shielding their face, but the body was familiar despite the disfigurement and horrible slurs carved into their skin. The blood wasn't the only red marks running along their body.

Between their arms and above their head, illuminated by a pale streak of moonlight above the figure in the ceiling, were five words written on the grey stone in vivid crimson blood. Five words that made Link scream. Made him break.

_You were too late, Hero._

The hand reached into his chest again and Link was yanked out of that horrible torture chamber and thrown onto cool, dewed grass on his stomach, arms stretched out in front. The wind caressed his skin sympathetically and soothed the burns and brushed away the stray tears. He immediately felt a heavy and somewhat comforting object in his hand, rounded but long.

Link opened his eyes instantly this time, despite the fear pounding in his chest and the tears building behind his eyes, and saw that a crude practice blade was in his hand, drenched in red lifeblood, and his hand was coated in it, creating scabbed patterns across his tender skin. He looked at his other hand, shakily lifting it up, and saw the same gruesome pattern of blood there, soaking his gauntlets on both arms.

So much blood…Link laboriously pulled his legs up from underneath and stood, trembling and barely able to keep a grip on the sword in his hand. Feeling a weapon in his grip strengthened his resolve, if only a bit…it was better than being defenseless. Even if said weapon was coated in blood from one creature or another.

Looking around, Link felt both relief and fear at seeing no immediate horror. He was by a gurgling spring in a thick, lush forest. His eyes instantly found the dark red stains on the grass around him, matching the color on his blade, and he traced them back and into the forest surrounding him. Link took a few hesitant steps diagonally to the right, peering around a tree to see where the blood trail would lead him…

The Hero jerked back at the sight of an unmoving boot. He took deep breaths and steeled himself, taking the crucial steps forward to see whose body was lying motionless in the bramble between the trees. He recognized it instantly, and froze when he did.

There lay Gondo, arms out and a broken shield on his arm, a sword close by his other hand…there were deep wounds across his chest, intercepting with the multiple stab wounds across his broad torso. Link looked up to his face, and saw the mask he wore was off, baring his forehead and eyes and allowing Link to see his wide open, terrified, lifeless eyes. Blood from a slash from his shoulder blade to his opposite pulse point was still trickling down his neck.

Link stumbled away, but only managed to trip over a heavy thing behind his heels, and he went falling backwards. His hands hit the ground hard, and he gasped at the wet feeling of some liquid immediately soaking through his leggings behind his knees. He looked at what he had tripped over and screamed despite himself, jerking his body away from the corpse.

Pipit was still. His eyes, unlike Gondo's, were closed but his wounds were no less gruesome. His lower stomach was torn to shreds by horrific slashes, while across his chest were five slashes and his yellow tunic was nearly red from the sheer amount of blood still oozing from his wounds. He was dead, there was no doubt…Link pulled away with another cry and turned around, in much fear of what he would see when he did.

He wasn't disappointed. A body was propped against the tree, blood spilling from a horrible wound in his head and in his chest. Groose's pompadour was limp, and the straight stab wound that connected both of his eyes still spilt blood down his broad face. His chest was marked with countless stabs and slashes. Next to his body, lying where a defender might have stood, protecting Groose's right side, was Karane, the only woman there…she was just as gruesomely murdered as the others, her chest laid open from neck to pubes.

Link looked at the sword in his hand and dropped it like it was red hot; screaming when he realized it was _he_ that had brutally murdered his friends…

He was yanked again, away from the murders, and deposited harshly onto cold grey stone similar to that of the torture chambers. Link felt a heavy weight on his ankle, and by pulling his leg towards him he felt that it was a shackle and chain connected to something either very heavy or the ground. Link wiped his eyes harshly with the back of his hand, feeling his arms tremble and unrelenting tears drip down his nose. Why was this happening? What had he done? Was this real? Or was it just some sick fantasy? If he had really done all those things…if every one of his friends had actually died, at his or Ghirahim's hand, he wouldn't…_couldn't, _live any longer.

Link raised his eyes, tears still brimming in his eyes, but he saw a figure before him in a similar position to his, lying splayed on the cold ground. The hair…the golden hair and white flowing dress…

"Zelda," he whispered hoarsely. He reached out his arm, begging that she was still alive…her head was curled in, blocking her body from his view. If only he could reach her…

"Zelda!" he whispered again, desperately. He pulled against the shackle binding his leg but to no avail, it only made the chain rattle irritably against the stone and the metal bite into his flesh. He glared at the chain and turned back to Zelda, delighted to see her head shifting and hear her exhale. But was spoiled his delight was the pained sound in her voice…and the blood staining her hair and her hands cupping her stomach.

"Link," she moaned, her golden blue eyes cracking open to look at him. Her face was drawn, pale and her eyelids were fluttering…her voice was small and weak, like she was on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Why?" she whimpered. "Why would you do this to us?"

"Do what, Zelda?" he asked pathetically in an undertone, still reaching towards her too far away form. "What did I do?"

Zelda moaned from the obvious pain in her gut and cried out, "You killed them _all! _Why would you d-do that-t…!"

Pain and horror stabbed instantly into his heart and he felt tears fall from his eyes and hit the stone. No…no, it couldn't be true! "I didn't! Zelda, please believe me!"

"You killed everyone!" she gasped; blood seeping from her loosening fingers and spilling onto the floor. "You…you killed everyone…"

"No!" he screamed. His voice broke, his throat tore, but he didn't stop. "No!"

Zelda lay limp, and the hand reached into him and tore him away. Link screamed as he was dumped harshly onto the ground, this time the stone was neither hot nor cold. Link instantly tried to stand and felt some—very little—satisfaction when he was able to stand. The Hero looked around and his eyes instantly locked on the familiar black-lipped demon standing fifteen paces away from him, smiling tauntingly.

"You…you did this!" Link shouted, pointing a shaking finger at the demon. Despite himself, tears ran down his cheeks. "All of this!"

Mihra smiled flirtatiously. "Me? Little old me? Oh, I did none of this. This entire mess was all you, sweetie. Every drop of blood shed was your responsibility. All…you. I'm just sitting back and enjoying the show…honestly, you're much to close to people. Ghirahim, the girl, that boy with the ridiculous hair, the fatty back at the school…seriously, haven't you ever considered that you have _too_ many friends? They're all too easy to kill to hurt you. You should know better."

Link stepped back, tears blurring his vision and making Mihra's form bleed at the edges, and he ruthlessly wiped them away with the back of his hand. Mihra laughed and started to whisper, suddenly very and dangerously close to him.

"You're just a child. A boy. You shouldn't have to cope with all of this death, all of this tragedy…the Goddess may have chosen you as her Hero, but you have done your duty and paid the price. Haven't you ever wondered if the price was too high?" Her hands lay on his shoulder from behind, her hair tickling his neck, fingers stroking his shoulders tenderly. "Your innocence is gone, forever, and blood will always stain your hands…what does it matter if it is Bokoblin blood or human blood? But I digress. You're too young, Link. Much too young. I can take away this pain for you…a simple word and all of this will be gone. None of the pain…none of the heartache will ever be yours to bear."

Her fingers roved upwards and stroked his neck, under his chin, and traced nonsensical patterns into his skin. Link's head tilted, giving her cool fingers more skin to touch. "I can take it away…trust me, Link. Please. You're much too strong to have to go through this…It does pain me to see you like this, it really does."

Link's eyes remained closed when she fell silent, but her fingers still tenderly kneaded his skin. Her words tumbled through his mind, sewing up the cracks and fissures formed from the trauma he had just endured. He knew what he had to do.

Link opened his eyes and smiled.

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><p>…<p>

**I have no words left after that. Goodness. Well. Sorry for updating late, and thanks for all the love! I'll just get to the reviews now; I don't feel like blabbering in a long author's note.**

**Royal9000—Oh dear. Normally I would be sorry, but Mihra is quite evil and I'm rather proud that I hit the nail on the head with that one. You have no idea how warm and fuzzy your review made me feel inside. But anyways, I haven't played Paper Mario, no. And thank you for the Mihra love, I was worried about her, but knowing that many hate/love her, it really boosts my morale. And when you pointed that out, I realized it too, but I guess Ghirahim wasn't really expecting Mihra to come to the catacombs. I was going to write another chapter but I had to leave, and I didn't bring my laptop. And thank you ve much (even though I didn't go skiing, too warm) and I hope you enjoy.**

**Princess-of-Your-Doom95—Your wish if my command, Your Majesty.**

**Piezelle—I am too, love. And thank you very much!**

**increak96—I ask myself much the same, dear. Thank you very much! I hope you like what I have in store…**

**Shadowstormwarrior—Oh, I don't mind. Well, everyone seems to love to beat up on Link. We know he can take it (usually) and you have to admit, it's rather fun. Thank you! Wow! You know, I thought the same…I really wanted to extend it, but I realized it was too long and I didn't have a good ending…but all things must come to an end, sooner or later. Thank you again!**

**BanishedOne—Ah, I don't mind. I do the same, and you're right, it is very maddening indeed. Oh, wow, you have no idea how close you struck to an alternate ending I was planning before I chose this one. I literally was going to have Mihra take Link instead of curse him, and hold him captive…bend his will…and really use her temptation. But I digress. Thank you! If we're thinking the same, it is rather grim, but good at the same time…eh. I'm thinking about it, believe me. And thank you, again!**

**dbzfan8—Usually. *smile* Thank you, dear, but you'll have to wait a little longer. And I understand! I was worried that would happen, but eh, what can I do? I like the name too much. Thanks for reading!**

**Mijosui—Perhaps, perhaps. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Breaking-Benjamin-rules—Sorry! And Fang, I still haven't forgiven you. Anyways, thanks for the praise! I hope you like what I've got up my sleeve.**

**Spartan13576—Thank you! Oh, wow, your reviews are rather chaotic, yes? And Chuck Norris is never impressed. Impressed is Chuck Norrised. Anyways, thanks again!**

**Error code 666—Oh, thank you! Ooh, I'm excited to see! I never actually hated Ghirahim, I rather liked his determination and his hair..*coughcough* Anyways, thanks again, and I'm excited to see!**

**kid-kun—Sorry! I hope this satisfies you for a little. And the worst part about the ski resort is we didn't even go skiing. Too warm, damn it.**

**Kkroluna33—Thank you! Oooh, thanks! Mihra is quite, but I'm taking that as a compliment, I rather like her even though she's horrid. But what author doesn't like their own creations? *shrug* Eh, thanks again!**

**Wow, thanks for all the reviews guy! Love you all! Until next time.**

**-Spirit-**


	22. Chapter 22

Link smiled to the wall opposite him, blinking slowly and turning sedately towards the demon behind him. Mihra was smiling kindly, her face surprisingly soft and gentle. Her eyes held no malice, no cruelty, just kindness and understanding…

The Hero raised his eyes to Mihra's and smiled again, her hands still on his shoulders and fingers stroking the skin on his neck with feather light touches. Link spoke softly, but with no less conviction as if he had been shouting.

"I'm sure the pain you're in right now is simply unbearable," he murmured. "But just to be sure…" Before Mihra could react, the Hero's hand connected with her cheek and sent her reeling, more shocked and demeaned by the gesture than hurt. Her hand immediately came to cup her reddening cheek, and she whipped around to glare daggers at the smirking Hero.

"How DARE you!" she shrieked, but all charm was lost and the Hero smiled again.

"You have _no_ idea how good that felt," Link said before he felt the timely hand reach inside him and grip his spine, jerking him away from the outraged demon. Instead of hitting the hard ground of wherever the next horror should have been, he felt himself start to fall after he knew he had reached his destination. Link tumbled through the air, flipping and turning upwards and sideways until he had no idea which way he was actually falling.

Link threw out his arms and tried to counteract his mad tumbling, managing to still his acrobatics and face down, spread eagle. Directly below him, maybe twenty feet down, a familiar figure was falling with their back to the ground and red cape whipping dramatically around their still legs.

"Ghirahim!" Link yelled, but the wind caught his words and sent them to the sun. His hand reached down towards his falling friend, and he was eerily reminded of his dream when Zelda had been in Ghirahim's exact position…

He pushed the thought out of his mind and streamlined his body, shooting towards his friend's still form but slowing himself before he barreled into him by throwing out his arms and legs. He saw Ghirahim's eyes were closed, his arms extended up and hair flying wildly. He was purified—thank the Goddess—and he wasn't bleeding…but Link wasn't sure if he was breathing…

_"Ghirahim!"_ Link yelled once more, reaching his hand down towards his friend and managing to grasp his forearm. Ghirahim stirred at the touch, and his black eyes fluttered open and met Link's. The vivid red lips parted and the corners tilted up. They formed a single word, silently, but Link recognized it and smiled wide.

"I've got you!" Link assured, screaming his words and pulling them closer together. "I won't let you go!"

The sword spirit smiled again, his own long fingers digging into Link's elbows. He raised his head so his lips were right by Link's ear, so he didn't have to scream his words. Ghirahim's cape whipped at Link's body and left behind stinging lashes, and the white hair lashed his face painfully.

_"I was never yours to keep,"_ he said. The sword spirit pushed their bodies away, and Link tumbled alone for several turns before he straightened out and saw Ghirahim falling too, smiling still, before he fell through a white cloud. Link entered moments behind him and when he emerged, Ghirahim was gone.

The ground was suddenly rushing up to meet him, and Link cried out as he came closer and closer with no means of slowing. The Hero closed his eyes just seconds before the lush green ground met him.

Link jerked at the expected impact, his rebellious limbs clumsily reacting to his mind's commands. He was lying down, his entire body having jerked when he had expected to hit the ground. But he was lying on a blanket on cold stone, with another blanket lying on top of his sweaty body. His eyesight quivered as he blinked and tried to sit up, head spinning and confusion rattling his senses.

He didn't really comprehend what he saw when he looked around. Really, he just saw a wall; also a ceiling, floor and a black fabric covered back crouching on jerking white legs and a red cape spreading out like blood on the cold stone. Link looked around him, noticing a black dagger near his head. Without actually thinking about his actions, Link picked it up and held the hilt tight in his grip. It was small but a satisfying weight in his hand.

_This is a poor way to try and scare me,_ Link thought grimly as he forced his body forward with his arms, fingers digging into the stone and legs coming up so he could kneel on the stone. _Honestly, the dagger was right there…what does she expect?_

As he kneeled, his arms shook and he felt like he was going to collapse. But Link didn't dare stop. He wasn't going to let Ghirahim die again, not even if it was a sick fantasy in his head. He had to save him at least _once._

Link managed to get onto one knee by the time he was close to the demon's back. She hadn't even heard him…pity, he had expected a fight at the very least. Poor unreality indeed if she expected him to call her out so she could just murder him too. No sir, Link was not going to play her games. He was taking charge this time, even if it was a futile gesture in the scope of things. He might even be punished in later horrors, but what did it matter? He was here, with a dagger and a defenseless and clueless demon with her back to him. What else was anticipated of him?

_This pains me, Mihra,_ he quoted ruthlessly in his mind, and lips set into a thin line and sweat dotting his brow as he raised the dagger up. _It really does. But what else can be done? Give my regards to your _King _if you meet him._

Without further ado, Link brought the dagger down into her back, a fatal blow. He instantly felt he body the blade was buried in tense and he felt hot, boiling blood gush over his hand when he twisted the blade harshly in her flesh. Mihra screamed, a piercing and wailing sound in his ears, and she tried to turn to see who had wounded her.

"Y-you…!"

"Little old me," Link spat, putting his burning hand on the stone to steady himself. Oh, the blood on his hands was burning…like acid…

Link closed his eyes and waited for the hand to reach inside of him and transport him to another fantasy, to another torture chamber or burial place, but none came…there was only the sound of Mihra's body tumbling and hitting the ground, her skull smacking off the stone with a crack. There was the sound of blood dripping and the pommel of the dagger still buried in her back hitting the stone.

After a few long moments, Link opened his eyes in confusion. Why wasn't he somewhere new? Had he done something wrong…or right? He looked at the body Mihra had been strangling as the sounds of wheezing and deep breaths came from it. Ghirahim clutched his throat and coughed, taking deep breaths into his lungs, clearing the black spots in his vision.

"Link," he croaked, staring at the Hero with a mixture of surprise, relief and happiness. "You're awake."

Link touched his neck, and hissed when Mihra's blood on his hand burned his skin. He wiped the blood on his dirty, catacomb dusted pants to try and stop the painful burning sensation. "I am?"

Ghirahim sat up, arms trembling, breath wheezing but eyes bright with the fire Mihra had failed to extinguish. "Yes! You're awake!"

Link raised his eyes and touched his head, swaying side to side. "Oh," he said, softly. "I…I thought…"

Ghirahim reached forward, but withdrew his hand quickly when he saw the amount of confusion in the azure eyes. "You thought that…?"

"I thought…I thought this was still…a…fake…something Mih-hra conjured to…scare me…I didn't think she would _actually die…"_

Ghirahim realized, with despair, that Link had unknowingly murdered the demon in cold blood, in the thoughts that it was payback in the many nightmares the curse she had placed on him. That it wasn't real. But he had committed cold blooded murder, even if it was on someone who was strangling a close friend…

"Link," Ghirahim whispered. "It's alright. She's dead. She can't hurt us anymore…she was going to kill me, Link. If there's any reason to justify this it's you were preventing another murder."

The Hero raised his troubled eyes to Ghirahim's dark black, but no less sincere, eyes. Link's lips pressed together and he eventually nodded, cupping the side of his face with his good hand. His eyes were sunken, skin waxy and pale, with sweat dotting his brow and plastering his still dirty hair to his temples and the nape of his neck. He swallowed and nodded after a moment, saying jerkily, "You're right. Yes, you're right."

Ghirahim reached out and placed his hand on Link's shoulder, comfortingly squeezing it. Link looked up at him when he spoke. "You beat the curse," Ghirahim informed with a tiny smile.

Link looked confused. "What curse?" he whispered.

"The curse that Mihra put on you. It made you see all those things…none of which are real, no matter how real they felt. Everything that happened to you after the catacombs is a lie, okay? You have to trust me on that one."

Link looked doubtful, and he whispered dubiously, "Even Skyloft burning? Is Zelda alright? Groose? Gondo, Pipit, Karane?"

Ghirahim nodded firmly. He would have heard if Link's floating rock had been burned, or if the two almost body guards outside had been killed. He could sense their presence…obviously Mihra hadn't slaughtered them so no one would interrupt her when she went to kill Ghirahim. A risk taker, she was.

"All fine," he said. "I assure you."

Link eventually smiled, still not quite believing him but trusting his judgment. "All right," he agreed, softly. He let out a huge yawn, and when Link opened his eyes again he saw Ghirahim's features had taken on a look of realization, horror, and then resignation.

"What is it? Ghirahim?"

"You beat the curse alright," Ghirahim said softly, looking down. He grabbed Link's hand unabashedly and looked at their joined hands, not wanting to look Link in the face as he spoke. "But it isn't lifted. Only Mihra could lift it…and now that she's dead, there's no one left to lift the curse on you."

"So? I beat it, didn't I?"

"For now," Ghirahim said grimly. "But it's only dormant, lying in wait until it reawakens and strikes again, who knows how long from now…and though there is no doubt that you would survive, it would take you longer to break free again. After that, it would strike you down again…and again…and again…until you're left struggling for weeks to defeat it. Until it breaks you down until you _can't_ beat it. It will kill you, Link…not immediately…you'll have a few years at least, five at most."

Link blinked in shock, staring at Ghirahim's downcast eyes. The sword spirit's thumb started to trace tiny circles in his slightly burnt skin. "There's no other way," Ghirahim whispered, more to himself than to Link. He raised his eyes and spoke louder, staring unwaveringly into the confused but _alive_ blue eyes. "It wasn't just a passing fancy that made you save me at the final battle, Link," he said, firmly. "It was meant to be…so that I could save you now. So we'd be even. Don't you understand? You're my Master, and I'm obliged to do everything in my power to save you. I can do this for you…save you."

Link didn't know what Ghirahim was talking about, but a shard of panic and dismay shot into his heart at the word _Master._ "No, Ghirahim! I don't even know what you're doing, but don't do it just because I'm your Master! That's not—"

"I'm not," Ghirahim interrupted, firmly. "I'm doing this because you deserve it, Link. You're my friend. I'm not going to watch you wither away when I can do something about it. Link, please, do you trust me?"

The question caught Link off guard. He looked at their joined hands and nodded without hesitation. "Yes."

"Then let me do this," Ghirahim pleaded, softly. "Trust me to do what I want with my own body…something that you gave me…the freedom to do what I know is right."

Link couldn't speak. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he felt Ghirahim tug off the undershirt Link was wearing, still was wearing from the catacombs, and place his thumb on his sternum, applying a gentle pressure. Link closed his eyes when Ghirahim's other thumb came up and pressed into the center of his forehead.

"Trust me, Link," Ghirahim whispered, softly. "And thank you."

Link felt the words caress him, and from the two points Ghirahim touched him, warmth started to spread across his skin and seep deep down into him, into his bones. The warmth cleansed his body of the darkness lurking under his skin, wiping away the oily coating on his flesh and deep beneath it. It purified his mind of the fear and darkness still lurking from Mihra's curse and traumatic nightmares…he smiled at the feeling, his head tipping back ever so slightly when the fear that beat in his breast like a secondary heart slow and still, giving his true heart space to beat soundly…

Link let out a soft, delighted laugh and the sudden feeling of warmth throughout his entire body, from his nose to the tingling tips of his fingers and toes. He felt light…lighter than he had in a long, long time. Was this how it felt to be free?

"Ghirahim," Link whispered, happily, eyes still closed. "Ghirahim…I feel so warm…can you believe it, I can feel the shadows in my mind leaving—"

Link's words cut off when he opened his eyes. His smile dropped instantly, to a devastated, slack lipped expression. Several tears trickled from his eyes and landed on the stone between his knees.

There was no one there to hear them explode.

* * *

><p><strong>Second to last chapter, lovies! Only an epilogue to go…anyways…I'm rather prouddepressed about this chapter, I liked the ending and hate it much the same. But now I'm rambling, so I'll be quiet and respond to my lovely reviews! And thanks to all those who have read and followed my story and those who reviewed. You've made the journey all the more enjoyable.**

**gwendolyndark—Ooh, I hope you liked what I did (probably not, but nonetheless, a girl can hope, yes?) And thanks for the review, dear!**

**Error code 666—That's fine, I'm excited to see it! And I'm sure your art is better than mine (though that's not that hard to do) and I have to agree, Ghirahim's hair is unable to not be loved. I feel much the same about Mihra, you're not alone…but I love her more than hate her, to be honest. Anyways, thanks for your review! I have not read anything by him, no…are the longer chapters a better or worse thing? *grin* **

**Princess-of-Your-Doom95—Sorry dear, didn't mean to cheat, but when do authors ever play fair? Thanks for the review!**

**increak96—Wow, thank you! Ooh, you mustn't die now, we're not finished yet! We can die together then, love, but not before. I hope I honored your last request. Thanks for the review!**

**meijosui—Indeed. On both counts, that is…and thanks for the review, love!**

**koroluna33—As do I, dear, on both of those statements there. *grin* She does, but not much now anyhow…eh, dead men can't cheat, yes? Thanks for your review!**

**Breaking-Benjamin-rules—You left Max, that's what. Though I never read after Fang, I can't speak much after that. But nonetheless, it was unforgivable. Anywho, thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoyed!**

**Tapix—I liked your story. And I'll take that as a compliment (even though I shouldn't) and I'm sorry that I made you cry, I didn't mean to. Thanks for the review!**

**Spartan13576—I had to love, everyone close to Link needed to die in his nightmares. For the theatrics, you know? Oh wow, chaos again, I'm not even sure how to respond to it. And yes, I am a she. *sheepish grin* Thanks for the review, love!**

**Piezelle—Well, he didn't, but it didn't end very well, not at all…please don't cry, we're not through yet. Thanks for your review!**

**OhMyGeePinkSucksAss—For one, very nice username. Next, I didn't notice how strange that was until you pointed it out…*grin* Oops? Thanks for the review, love!**

**Until the last chapter, take my love.**

**-Spirit-**


	23. Chapter 23

_Epilogue_

_17 years later_

A man and a young boy walked through a thriving, pretty forest in the late afternoon's sun. The father was rather short and was wearing baggy pants with an untied jerkin with two fishing poles over his shoulder. His wide brimmed hat covered his short, honey blonde hair and shaded his face from the sun. The son was young, barely seven; with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes that were a carbon copy of his father's. He wasn't wearing any shoes, his pants rolled up to his knobby knees and his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The boy ran forward, jumping up onto a rock and walking along it several with his arms out, giggling as he fell off one and jumped right back up onto another. His father walked more sedately behind him, smiling all the same, ruffling his son's hair whenever he came close enough. The pair obviously knew where they were going, for their steps were sure and it seemed they knew the land around them intimately.

They broke from the cover of the forest soon, and stood before a rather beautiful lake that was fed by an outlet from the famous Lake Floria. The lake was large, flat and its edge was rimmed with rolling, forest covered hills. The pair walked to a stone outcropping that jutted out onto the lake—appropriately named Lake Twilight because of the still water that reflected the twilight's sky as perfectly as a mirror—and the father set the homemade fishing poles onto the flat stone before he asked his son, "Do you want to go for a swim, or fish first?"

"Swim!" the boy cried, grinning toothily. His father laughed and nodded, kneeling down to help tug off his son's shirt. He folded it neatly on the stone and pulled off his own jerkin and hat before jumping into the water. It was cool, refreshing and familiar. The father resurfaced, shaking his head vigorously to get the excess water out of his hair, and turned to his son, holding out his arms and saying, "Come on, I'll catch you!"

The boy happily jumped into the water before his father's arms, delighted when he did indeed catch him. Father and son swam together in the still water of Lake Twilight for quite some time, splashing and giggling and diving down to touch the bottom until the sun had started to set over the great expanse of water and turned it orange, red and the prettiest of pinks. The water seemed to get colder when the sun started to set, and the boy started to shiver and his teeth started to chatter loudly. His father scooped him up and helped him onto the outcrop, drying him with his own jerkin and hugging his son to his side to warm him up, his toes still immersed in the water while his son's hung quite a distance above the surface.

The pair watched the sunset for a few moments before the son spoke up. "Papa," the boy said, "Can you tell me another story?"

"Which one?"

"The one about your friend who has my name."

"Ah, I know which one you want. You want to know about Ghirahim, right?"

"Yes Papa," the boy, Ghirahim, said.

"Alright," Papa said with a small smile. "When I was younger, I had to travel down from Skyloft—where Uncle Gaepora lives—to save Mama. Ghirahim wasn't on my side at first, but after I defeated Demise and I saved his life, we became friends. He was a sword spirit—or the spirit of a certain sword that the Goddess made herself—and he needed to be turned back from a demon to his true form. But another demon, one called Mihra, didn't want him to. She fought against us and tried to hurt us, but we got away…but she managed to put a curse on me that made me sleep. Ghirahim stayed with me while I slept."

"Couldn't you wake up?" the boy asked.

"No, son," Papa said, softly, with his arm around his son's tiny shoulders. "The curse didn't let me. But I beat the curse after a while, and I defeated Mihra when I woke up. But you see, the curse wasn't gone. It was still in me, and it could make me go back to sleep whenever it was triggered. Ghirahim knew this, and he did something that I'll never be able to repay him for…he sacrificed his own body so he could be inside of me and be a counter to the curse. His powers, his spirit….he lives inside of me, keeping the curse dormant."

"Why doesn't he come back then, Papa? You're well now."

"If he could," Papa explained, "I believe the curse would be activated."

His son quieted and then spoke up after a few moments of deep contemplation. Well, the deepest contemplation a six and a half year old could muster. "How is he inside of you, Papa? Can he talk to you?"

Papa smiled and shook his head. "No," he said, softly. "He can't speak to me. It's not that he gave up his body and his spirit lives inside of me, son. He gave up everything, his mind, memories, body, to put every ounce of power and magic into me so Mihra's curse would be countered. I wish he could talk to me, though."

The young boy frowned. His father smiled and lifted up the boy's hand, putting it on his chest, over his sternum. The boy looked up at his father and then at his hand resting on his Papa's chest. Papa moved his hand away, so he could see the tiny blotch of red there.

"See that?" Papa asked. "Can you tell me what shape it is?"

His son leaned close and squinted his eyes, eventually saying, "It's a diamond, Papa."

"Yes," Papa nodded. "That's the mark of Ghirahim's essence. It's been there since he sacrificed his body to save me." Papa reached down to his son's chest and put his thumb on his sternum, pressing gently before lowering his thumb. The boy looked down and examined where his father had indicated, seeing a similar mark, if a few shades fainter than his father's.

"He lives in both of us," Papa explained. "As long as we breathe, he breathes, too. What we see, he sees. He's not gone, Ghirahim. He's inside both of us, forever."

His son traced the mark with his finger gently, and then looked up to his Papa with a scandalized expression. "He sees when I go to the bathroom?"

His father laughed, the echo of it bouncing off the water like a skipping stone. "If you want to get literal, then yes, Ghirahim."

His son stuck out his tongue and furrowed his brow in disgust. "That's _weeeird."_

Papa smiled. "Even so, he'll live forever," he said, softly. "In our family. He once told me he wouldn't be brought back in a later life. He said this was his one time in this world…but now, he'll live forever, in our descendants, Ghirahim."

"Is that why you named me after him?" his very mature son asked, looking up at him with crystal blue eyes.

"Your mother and I gave you his name because he saved my life and he was a good man," Papa said with smile. "And because we couldn't chose between Groose II and Maximus."

His son giggled. "It would be weird to have Uncle Groosy's name, Papa!"

Papa smiled and ruffled Ghirahim's hair, leaning down to kiss the scruffy head. "I know," he murmured. "But you bear a name of great integrity and power, Ghirahim. Bear it well, son."

"I will, Papa," he promised.

"I know you will," Papa smiled. "I know you will, son."

After many moments of sitting together, Ghirahim yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Papa," he mumbled. "I'm tired."

"Alright," Papa said, standing up and picking his son up, knowing he was on the verge of sleep. "It's getting late anyways."

"Can we come back tomorrow?" his son asked sleepily, head resting in the nook between his father's neck and shoulders, his breaths puffing against the bare skin.

"Of course," his Papa agreed. "I'll teach you to bait a hook."

"Don't wanna fish," the boy argued, but his voice was getting less coherent as his father's smooth and rhythmic steps lulled him to sleep.

"Alright," Papa chuckled. "We'll swim, then."

"Don't wanna swim neither."

Papa laughed. "What do you want to do, then?"

"Could you tell me more about Ghirahim?"

Unknown to his son, Papa smiled sadly. He kissed his son's head and agreed. "Yes, Ghira," he soothed. "I'll tell you all about him."

"Good," his son said drowsily before dozing off, breathing evening out.

Link smiled, shifting the poles further on his shoulder and his son more firmly on his hip. He looked up to the sky and spoke to himself, or the blinking stars and the half eaten moon.

"One day," he promised, "I'll take him to the Sand Sea. He'll love it, just like you did."

The father walked into the forest and towards his home, son on his hip and a friend on his mind. He left Lake Twilight with a promise to return and to never forget.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't kill me! This is the end. I'm not totally happy with this…I mean with how I wrote it, now the actual ending<strong>**. I apologize for a sad ending—AKA basically making Ghirahim go poof—but it had to be done. I mean, what else could have happened? Link and Zelda (I apologize also for the Zelink, I don't like it, but I wanted him to have a son and I dislike Peatrice) live together and Ghirahim follow Link around everywhere…it doesn't work.**

**Anyways, **_**thanks to all those who read, alerted and reviewed! **_**I love every single one of you. Someday soon, thanks to your support, I'll post some of my other musings for your enjoyment. **

**Review responses, now!**

**Princess-of-Your-Doom95—Sorry, love! I wish it could too, but all things must end. Thanks for all of your reviews!**

**gwendolyndark—I didn't necessarily kill him…*tugs at collar* I have several different endings actually, but one is at the end of the catacombs, the other an extension of the catacombs, and another is just completely ridiculous that I'm ashamed to have thought of it. Perhaps, but don't be too excited. Thanks for your reviews!**

**Error code 666-Sorry! And thank you! I've not got that far in Ocarina of Time (I believe that's what Sheik is in, but correct me if I'm wrong) but I wouldn't be adverse to it, I don't think. True, good point. Thanks for the reviews, love!**

**Pilpols—Thanks, love! **

**Royal9000—That you did, love! One of the only, in fact, many assumed that I had killed him, which I didn't, technically, but anywho, in one of my other endings Mihra was banished to the demon realm and the entrance sealed off. But I felt like she had to die. And that's what I was aiming for but I wasn't sure if I had succeeded…thank you again! I'll have to respond to the next reviews the old fashioned way, but I'm certainly checking the reviews and comments left. You're welcome, but I really have to thank you—I've always loved reading your reviews. Thank you.**

**increak96—Sorry, love! I hope this cleared it up. This is the last, sadly, excluding any oneshot musings I post up just for fun. I'm sorry for distressing you, but like Justin said, it had to be done. Thank you for the review, love! I always love hearing from you.**

**meijosui—That it has. I'm not sure if this counts as a twist, but more of a coping chapter to ease the blow. Thank you for all of your reviews, and I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.**

**kid-kun—My thoughts exactly.**

**Spartan13576—Thank you! And one of the last chaotic reviews, I really will miss these, their randomness never failed to make me smile. Too bad Ghirahim and Mihra couldn't poison me, it would have been good payback. I still feel rather bad for killing Mihra off, I quite liked her. See you, love, and thanks for all the reviews and love!**

**arrowriver—I'm sorry! I hope this counts as good…if not…I'm sorry. But thank you for your reviews, love!**

**OhMyGeePinkSucksAss—Thanks, love! That they don't, but I've always been (morbidly) fascinated with head wounds like that, and the "sickening crack of his/her skull hitting the ground/stone/tile/floor." Anyways, Link wasn't doomed, Ghirahim saved him. But thank you for your review, love!**

**Breaking-Benjamin-rules—No one will, indeed. Thanks for the review, and I hoped this sated your curiosity…if not…I apologize.**

**destroying tokyo—I'm sorry! I'm not a doctor, but maybe I can suture it back together…? Thank you, for everything! But I'm sorry to say he is gone, forever. But he lies on, like I said before. Thanks for the review, love!**

**Piezelle—He is, indeed. Really? I love Ghirahim's Theme the most, but I've never heard Fi's Gratitude…is that the song when Fi is drawn into the Master Sword forever? Anywho, thank you very much, and I'm just as happy that you enjoyed it!**

**dbzfan8 (both reviews)—Not everyone died (technically no one did, but anyways). Thanks for your review, love! Link didn't die, no, and neither did Ghirahim…not literally, anyways. I'm sorry for making you cry!**

**Holy Goddess, guys! That was a ton of reviews! Thank you all a million times over! I'm so sorry if this chapter/epilogue disappoints (I have the vibe/instinct it will) but…but…I'm just sorry if it does. I love you all, so much!**

**Until we meet again.**

**-Spirit-**


	24. ALERT PLEASE READ

Hello all my faithful readers!

I'm happy to announce that I'm rewriting _Bloodstained _and posting them on my Tumblr as I write them. I have several well outlined and thought-through reasons, but I'm too lazy to write them all out. The gist of them is that I was irritated with the progression of their friendship and the mistakes, and I want to try and fix them. I'll even write a few alternate endings for those who were unhappy with the epilogue.

EDIT: Alright, I lied. I just got my tumblr and it annoys me. So I will be posting the rewritten version here, just as a continuation on _Bloodstained. _Sorry for the confusion, I'm so indecisive. If you want to view it here, happy reading! I will also (laborously) be posting them to my tumblr, _Scribbled Sol,_ as well.

I love you all!

The link: (remove the spaces):_ http_

_scribbledsol . tumblr post/ 28797604540 / bloodstained-1-23_

-Spirit-


	25. Chapter 1 rewritten

**Title: **Bloodstained rewritten

**Author: **Spirit the Fire Dragon/Scribbled Sol

_This is a complete revamp of the previous 23 chapters. _Major spoilers for SS_._ Will include suicidal thoughts and attempts. Will also include bonus material and alternate endings. This is, admittedly, a much darker take than the original. Be warned.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim was a faithful servant, there was no denying it. He faithfully fought by his master's side at the beginning of his conquest, enjoyed the spoils of a winning war, lost with his dignity intact even as his master fell; he wandered the Surface for countless years planning and lying in wait for the Goddess reincarnate to be born.<p>

So long he had worked, so long he had carefully planned and built up an entire army; he had worked so hard and so carefully for so many years to free his master after he had been imprisoned. The years and years of harsh dedication paid off when finally, _finally_ his master stood before him again, in all his former glory. Even the irritating presence of the Sky Child couldn't spoil this reunion.

In hindsight, it would have been better if the Sky Child had spoiled it. He could have dealt with an enemy's intervention; he could have understood and rationalized it. But this…this disregard from his own master, the very one he had dedicated his entire existence to as unfathomable…and it hurt. It _hurt._

Ghirahim was a faithful servant. He was. But he would not serve a master who did not acknowledge his hard, dedicated work. He had served Demise for so very, very long and he hadn't even spoken to him. He would have even taken an insult!

And so Ghirahim was left with a choice, a split second decision that would determine the rest of his life. He could die alongside his master, alongside a master that didn't appreciate him or his work in the slightest bit…or he could sever his connection with his master, completely eliminate the bond between them as master and servant. He would be even lonelier than before, a useless blade wandering the surface…but that was better than dying alongside a master that didn't give a damn about him.

Wasn't it?

Ghirahim didn't give himself the chance to second guess his instincts. Within the sword Demise held now, raising it to plunge it into the ground and possibly shatter him to join him within the Master Sword, Ghirahim mentally reached out to the telepathic bond that connected him to Demise and severed it.

Demise felt it, Ghirahim knew, he felt the bond slither and snap. Ghirahim, just a step away from panic, disintegrated the sword as Demise plunged it into the ground. He pulled the physical sword apart, bit by bit, before tugging them all together in an orb of flashy black and red magic; his consciousness could only sustain the wisp form for a matter of moments.

Ghirahim managed to teleport himself, as the wisp, only twenty feet away from the two enemies. He landed in the reflective water with a hiss, surprised that he had reverted to his demon form and of the pain in his chest.

He felt startlingly empty and alone. His mind felt fractured and lightened, in some strange way, and his limbs felt eerily disconnected from his control. His magic felt frayed, and it ebbed away from his grasp and control, flickering like a barely alive baby bird in the back of his mind. The pain in his chest was a throbbing, dull ache, but he was grateful for the pain because it reminded him that he was, in fact, alive. The water he was lying in was neither warm nor cold.

He may have been there for moments, minutes, hours or days; time seemed to slow and stretch and speed up in that place, and the only way he could even remotely gage the time was counting the number of breaths he exhaled that made the water before him ripple. Even then, his breaths could have been coming minutes apart or seconds apart.

Ghirahim was only pulled from his monotony when he heard—well, more of felt—the ripples and splashes of an approaching person. An approaching person with a Master Sword, who also happened to be wearing a green tunic.

His black eyes slid shut, and for a moment he considered teleporting away to safety, but the magic was out of his reach, as was the _will_ to survive. At that moment of desperation, he had saved himself but at a cost so great; he was now so alone, a blade without a wielder, and he was completely useless. What was there for him? There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. _Let the Hero do his worst,_ Ghirahim thought.

The silence stretched on, and Ghirahim found himself opening his eyes and straining to hear the sounds of a blade unsheathing or steps coming closer. He could barely sense the Hero standing relatively close to him, but not close enough for a fatal strike…what was the Hero waiting for?

"Do I have to spell it out to you?" Ghirahim rasped, his eyes staring out unseeingly over the unending water, to the horizon of blue sky and clear water. "Kill me, Hero."

The Hero was silent for a long time. "Why?"

Ghirahim closed his eyes. "I was assuming you were smarter than you looked. I suppose my assumption was wrong. I am your enemy; you defeated me and demolished my pride and dignity. Spare me the shame and kill me."

"But…you wouldn't fight back?"

"Do you think it would be a fair fight, Hero? Do you honestly think I could hold my own against you in this state? Or would it ease you conscience if I wasn't taking it lying down?"

"I'd…it would be murder. Cold blooded."

It was then, at that moment, that Ghirahim realized how exceptionally _young_ the Hero was.

"And if I stood and drew my blade it wouldn't?"

"It would be self-defense. You would die honorably."

"Hero," Ghirahim hissed as he lifted his head and looked to where he was standing, his arms curling awkwardly under his torso and making his seethe as they brushed against the extensive and nearly lethal wound on his chest. "No death is honorable. Dying in battle or for a loved one is never _honorable._ Death is ugly, messy, and plain ghastly. You of all people should know that. What would it matter if you killed me while I was standing or while I'm lying down? I'll be dead either way and my blood will be on your hands either way. Now if you'll _be so kind,_ please put your blade through my throat and spare me any further agony."

From his downcast position, Ghirahim could only barely see the look of contemplative pity on his face and shining in his blue eyes. After some long moments of silence, the Hero shook with head with an air of finality. "No," he said. "Death may not be pretty, but you can die honorably or cowardly. But I won't kill you. You…no. You can survive and thrive, Ghirahim. I can help you heal from your wounds and give you some supplies and you can go live whatever life you want."

His voice was calm, sure and sturdy, but every word he said drove a stake into Ghirahim's chest and nearly sent him into a strange fit of rage and panic. "Don't you understand, Hero, in all of your grand and priceless and holy _wisdom?_ I'm _asking _for you to kill me, I'm _begging! _Who are you to refuse a plea for death, you mangy piece of scum?"

The Hero's eyebrows rose at his furious insults, but his voice was calm as he spoke. "I'm Link, and I don't want to kill someone I can help. Come on, let's get you back to the temple…maybe Zelda or Impa could do something for that wound…sorry about that, by the way."

Ghirahim tried to slap his helpful hands away, but the Hero didn't jerk away and instead grasped onto his wrist and dragged the demon's arm over his sturdy shoulders, gripping his opposite hip as he hefted Ghirahim from the water and to his unsteady feet.

Ghirahim, by the time they were halfway to the portal, was running out of both insults and energy. His eyes were sliding shut even as his serrated tongue stilled. He didn't see the Hero smile to himself, and he was only barely aware of the bleached white light around them and swallowing them whole.


	26. Chapter 2 rewritten

**Title: **Bloodstained rewritten

**Author: **Spirit the Fire Dragon/Scribbled Sol

Includes suicide musings.

* * *

><p>"…how's…ing?"<p>

"….ood loss…infection…igh fever…entually alright…"

"…why'd…here?"

"…dying, Groo…ough killing…it is…"

Ghirahim could barely comprehend the words swimming inside of his head. The words were distorted with confusion and pain, the multitude of voices that spoke them were only sporadically decipherable, often droning out to meaningless mumbling.

The pain that was debilitating him centered in his core, throbbing in beat to his pulse; it made his head swim and limbs feel disconnected and heavy. He was lying on a scratchy, irritating surface that made his neck ache, with a strange wet weight on his forehead. The voices around him continued to drone amongst themselves even as Ghirahim shifted and tried scrunching his eyes together.

When he managed to peel open his eyes, the colors around him swam and shook from side to side. He blinked rapidly and reached a clumsy hand up to his forehead, where a soggy heaviness pressed and aggravated his already throbbing head. Suddenly, the voices that had stayed lowered rose and a hand gripped his raised wrist.

He opened his mouth to snap at whoever restrained him, but all that fell from his lips was a strangled, annoyed groan. The pain in his chest suddenly flared and he gasped, seething and arching his back, trying to lessen the agony.

"…him!...Ghirahim!"

He snapped his eyes to the eyes of his restrainer, who just happened to be the Spirit Maiden. He narrowed his eyes in confusion as she smiled reassuringly at him and spoke in a calm voice.

"Ghirahim, you're in the Sealed Temple. You've been badly injured, but I've healed most of the damage. You lost a lot of blood and caught an infection not long after Link brought you here. Your fever broke last night."

Ghirahim worked his jaw, and managed to grunt a few words out even as he slowly shook his head to shake off the weight from his forehead. When the girl removed it, he saw it was a damp cloth. "Why would you…do this?"

The Spirit Maiden smiled a bit sadly at him, but before she could respond an irritatingly familiar voice spoke from behind her. "I asked her to, Ghirahim."

Ghirahim raised his eyes over the girl's shoulder and saw the Hero standing by the wall, with the other sky child with the ridiculous hairdo standing near him, scowling heavily even as the Hero looked impassive, indifferent.

"Why?"

"I didn't want you to die," the Hero said, ignoring the incredulous look from his red-haired companion. "If you swear to live peacefully here, I won't interfere with your life."

Ghirahim narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, the Hero approached him and lowered a bottle to his lips. He turned away, and only looked at the bottle after the Hero spoke. "It's just a healing potion, Ghirahim," the hero assured him, quite calmly. "It will help your wounds heal faster."

Ghirahim reached up to take the bottle, ignoring how it shook slightly in his grip, and drank it in three gulps. He grimaced at the taste and handed the bottle back, not without glaring at the now standing Hero. Ghirahim glanced down after his chest flared with forgotten pain and he blinked at the extensive bandages that wrapped around his chest. He was about to rip them off to see the extent of his wounds, but the Spirit Maiden's hand on his wrist stopped him. Before he could try again she explained, "Ghirahim, you're still healing. Give the wound some time to close over before taking the bandages off, okay? You're in your mortal form and you'll bleed like one."

Ah, so the Goddess reincarnate did have a sense of humor.

"Thank you, Zel," the Hero said suddenly, his hand on her shoulder. "Could you two give us some privacy?"

"What, so he can kill you while we're gone? No way," the red headed one said loudly.

"Trust me."

"Come on, Groose," the girl said as she smiled at the demon and rose. "Show me the Kikwis?"

"Uh…okay…" the boy mumbled, looking stupidly pleased with himself. The two walked out into the woods without a backwards glance, the boy chuckling stupidly at something his companion said.

Ghirahim huffed and immediately began tearing at his bandages. The Hero crouched and batted his hands away, leveling him with a tolerating stare. "Stop that," he admonished.

"You are not my caregiver," Ghirahim hissed, snapping his teeth together and smirking a bit when the Hero jerked his face away involuntarily. "Stop fretting over me!"

"I'm not fretting. I'm stopping you from making me restrain you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"It wouldn't be very hard, seeing the state you're in right now."

Ghirahim scowled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The Hero shook his head. "Look, Ghirahim, just give your body four or five days to heal and you can be off. Don't make it harder on yourself by injuring yourself again and keeping you bedridden for longer, yeah?"

Ghirahim ignored his plea and instead demanded, "Why did you bring me here?"

"I told you before: I'm not going to kill you in cold blood when you have the opportunity to live peacefully without Demise."

"We're _enemies._ My life or the lack thereof is no concern of yours!"

"It is when I could have taken it."

Ghirahim paused at that, looking at the Hero with lowered brows and a questioning glare. "You feel I'm your responsibility because I asked for you to kill me."

"No, that's not what—"

"Asking for death is not the same as asking for help, Hero!"

"I don't think it is! I just think you don't need to die! There's been too much death as it is. I don't want your blood on my hands…even if you asked for it."

"You're a coward, Hero."

"Insulting me isn't going to make me kill you," the Hero said before Ghirahim could delve into his repertoire of insults. The demon scowled, but before he could speak the Hero continued. "Look, we won't bother you. Just rest here until you're healed and leave in peace. If you don't do anything to hurt us or the creatures here down on the Surface, we won't ever bother you again."

"And you think that since I have this…_freedom,_ that I won't just leave this place and take my own life?"

The Hero looked confused. A shocked, sad kind of confused. "What…why would you do that?"

"There is nothing, _nothing,_ for me here, Hero. There is nothing on the face of this land that could possibly do anything for me. I am useless, unwanted, and worthless without my Master. What made you think I would have any life beyond my Master and beyond my quest? I was asking you for a favor, Hero, because my master betrayed me and there was absolutely nothing I had left to strive, work and live for."

The Hero was silent for several long moments, before he asked quite suddenly, "What do you mean, your master betrayed you?"

Ghirahim blinked. "That's what you got out of that? You're a half-witted creature, boy."

"He didn't betray you, though. He turned you into your sword form and fought with you. Where's the betrayal?" The Hero continued pressing, completely ignoring Ghirahim's insults.

As fresh as the wound was, Ghirahim couldn't restrain himself from throwing himself into a full blown rant about the treachery.

"Do you know how long I worked towards freeing him? I don't even think you can _comprehend_ how long I've striven towards it. I spent centuries building up his army, furthering the control over the Surface, keeping the Goddess's creatures at bay—and then all the trouble I had to deal with when you came along, meddling and _ruining everything—_and when I finally managed it he spared not a word to me! Nothing! After everything I had done for him, like a good faithful slave, he was completely unappreciative of my work! If anything, he was _disappointed_ that I took so long!"

Ghirahim was seething even after he finished, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared, hissing through his fangs as his hands clenched so tight his grey skin pulled taught across his knuckles and turned white. The Hero had stripped him of gloves, shoes and ruined sash; the diamond that had sat on his hip and in his chest had been in shatters. Without it, his magic was completely out of reach, as was his ability to morph into his sword form, or his true form.

The Hero sat back on his heels, his lips pursing momentarily together before he said, "You're mad he didn't acknowledge you."

"Of course I am! I'm _incensed,_ to be more precise!"

"And so you turned on him when he lost. Because he ignored you."

Ghirahim scowled and sat up, laboriously, ignoring how the Hero tried to push him back down. "What are you getting at, Hero?"

"You're an attention-whore, is all."

Ghirahim blinked, his mouth hanging open in shock and offense, not at all expecting such a derogatory observation from the innocent-looking sky child. Before he could recollect his thoughts to deliver an insult right back, the Hero continued. "Not that I didn't know that before, but this really proves it. Anyways, Ghirahim, you're welcome here as long as you need to stay as long as you don't raise magic, hand or blade against me or my friends. Try to rest, alright? You've been through a lot. We all have."

Without further ado, the Hero stood and away from where Ghirahim was resting—near some strange sapling—and drew his sword. Ghirahim struggled to sit up straighter as he saw the girl flip gracefully from the blade, floating precariously above the steps leading to the pedestal at the front of the temple. The demon peered out, straining to hear the words that were softly spoken between the pair.

For only an instant, the eyes of the broken sword spirit and those of the victorious met, from across a grand temple, and thousands of years of history and memories passed between them; every moment lost was keenly felt as was all the animosity between them. The girl was the first to turn away, but her eyes had seen straight through him and had sent him a message without saying a single word.

_Look after him._

Ghirahim watched in pain—yes, pain, after all, these were her last moments, and he had spent so long at her side and even longer trying to destroy her—as the sword spirit in blue said her goodbyes, even smiled, and disappeared into her now still blade, standing proudly, victoriously, ready for a battle that would not come for generations.

The Hero stood still, and when he turned to walk out of the temple, Ghirahim caught glimpse of a shining drop that glistened on his cheek and drew a faint line to his downcast eyes. The tiny drop fell to the dusty ground as he walked away with his back straight, like a warrior, a soldier, and when that tiny tear hit it sounded like an explosion.


	27. Chapter 3 rewritten

**Title: **Bloodstained rewritten

**Author: **Spirit the Fire Dragon/Scribbled Sol

Suicide attempt and _very graphic descriptions. _Be warned and read at your own discretion.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim was a social creature. He was not a nice social creature, nor a very polite one, but for him to function he needed to be around other intelligent social creatures. He needed the attention, the conversations, the arguments even, to maintain his homeostasis. Without others, he was nothing and insignificant.<p>

And when left to his own devices, it was not a pretty sight. The many years spent trying to resurrect Demise had been spent in semi-solitude and had nearly driven him mad (well, _madder_). He had had the Bokoblins, but they were dimwitted creatures at the best of times—only the generals could speak in a somewhat coherent tongue, and even their company was trying. When Demise had returned, Ghirahim had felt relieved, if but for a moment, that he would _finally_ have an intelligent companion for the rest of eternity. But the fates would not have it so; instead, they would have it that he was lying injured, and very alone, in the middle of the Sealed Temple. In the hands of the Hero and his Goddess, no less.

To put it simply, Ghirahim was not coping. He was not coping well at all.

The first days had been tolerable, with interactions between him and the red-haired one exploding into full blown arguments and the Hero having to often times forcibly restrain his friend. The boy was then banned from being in the same room as the injured demon and Ghirahim hadn't seen him since (regrettably). After that, only the Hero would come visit him and sit by him; he never said a word, but sometimes he polished his weapons and others he whittled little figurines to pass the time.

Ghirahim, at first, refused to look at the Hero or even in his general direction, but as the time passed and the boredom increased ever so steadily, he would watch the Hero whittle away at the wood. He would steadily curve the sharp edges, uncover the softer, lighter wood underneath the bark, and trace the lines of the grain with his thumb. He watched the lump of shapeless wood turn into a small, pretty little figurine, finely detailed and lovingly made.

The Hero set his small knife down and examined the small wooden piece. It was one of the sky people's beastly birds, wings extended and head jutting out. After a moment of stillness, the Hero reached out from his position against the trunk of the Tree of Life and offered it to the demon.

Ghirahim blinked at the Hero, then at the tiny thing in his hand. When he glared at both it and its creator, the latter only gestured with it, to take it. With a sigh, Ghirahim reached out and accepted the figurine. He frowned at the tingling sensation that went up through his fingers and to his elbow, but mentally shrugged it off as he examined the thing.

When the Hero left, Ghirahim snapped its wings off and tossed it towards the roots of the tree before him.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim, at night, would force himself up and around, sometimes collapsing against the walls or floor when his legs gave out from the weakness in his limbs. He sometimes sat up by the Master Sword, just to be near the dormant sword spirit. He would touch the blade with his fingertips, the edges and the hilt, feeling the smooth metal and how it would bite coldly into his flesh if he pressed too hard.<p>

That night, he had cut his fingertip on the Master Sword and had watched his blackened blood well from the clean cut and bead on the pad of his finger. He had watched with morbid fascination as the blood thickened and grew, and when he tipped his finger, he watched the blood slide down and drip innocently onto the stone. The small cut wept freely, steadily dripping his blood onto the stone and the tiniest bit gleamed on the Master Sword's blade.

He had shaken himself from his reverie, stuck his finger in his mouth to help it clot, and went (staggered) back to his bedroll to try and sleep.

The subconscious pull of the Master Sword's gleaming edge in the back of his mind, however, remained. He constantly found himself looking at the blade, his thoughts wandering aimlessly, musing how pretty the cuts the blade would mark into his skin would look, wondering how taught his skin would pull until the blade would break it…

Many of these thoughts were thanks to the suffocating loneliness consuming him, inside and out; he was alone throughout nearly the entire day, without so much more than a wandering moth to talk to, and the bond that he had shared mentally with his Master was severed and left wide open, like a gaping wound. Though through the years he had been separated from his Master, that bond had remained; and though communication had been impossible, the _presence _of his Master's mind had been soothing. And now he didn't even have that small comfort.

Now he was so very, utterly alone. Though his body had healed itself—the scar was permanent, Ghirahim knew, as he would trace the fractured silvery lines across his chest with his fingers—he had no desire, no urge to leave the Temple, to live or journey or to conquer. It was like everything that had driven him before had been drained out of him, shattered along with his Linkage—the crystal that had connected him with his magic—when the Hero had driven the Master Sword into his chest.

And that Master Sword now sat, prone and undefended, mere feet away from him, so tantalizing, so welcoming; he had felt its sting before, felt its harsh bite, and though before it had wounded him, Ghirahim knew the bite would not be so painful…

Shaking himself free of the thoughts (with difficulty), Ghirahim turned his back to the sword and sat, with a huff, staring resolutely at the base of the thick Tree of Life before him. He examined the bark, the patterns in its falling leaves, but the tree didn't hold his attention for long. His thoughts wandered, and the loneliness only increased. The severed feeling in his mind grew as he remembered the feeling of his Linkage shattering, lost forever; the startling pain it had brought when he realized there was no more magic inside of him. When he had first returned to this form, he had felt the remnants of his once powerful magic, but as the time had passed and his Linkage had not been restored, it ebbed so very far away.

He didn't realize he had stood until he was halfway to the Master Sword, stepping up the worn steps towards the prone blade. He didn't stop himself as he stood, head slightly hung, directly before the sword and reached out a hand to stroke the extended, winged pommel. The metal felt cold against his fingers, and the ridge on one of the wings split open his cut finger. Without really thinking about it, he raised his finger to his lips and dabbed away the blood with his tongue.

Ghirahim started at the sound of the temple door creaking open, and didn't have the time—or the strength, if he was being totally honest with himself—to return to his abandoned bedroll. The Hero walked in, stopping at the sight of Ghirahim standing by the Master Sword, back turned to him.

"Uh, Ghirahim? What are you doing?"

The demon turned, and looked at the Hero with half lidded eyes, shrugging dismissively as he made the laborious journey back towards his little camp.

"Nothing at all, Hero. How kind of you to finally pay me a visit. When was the last time you did? Two days ago?"

The Hero looked concerned at that. "Ghirahim, I was here this morning. I came with some bread and fruit, remember?"

The demon stopped at that, recalling the event. He shrugged dismissively again, though he was slightly put off that the previous morning seemed that far away to him. "Of course I do, Hero. Could you not tell I was exaggerating? Must I spell everything out or you?"

The Hero was looking at him with furrowed brows and tight lips. He let the topic drop as he settled down across from Ghirahim with a lunch for both of them and a knife and a fresh block of wood for whittling. The Hero looked contemplative the entire time he sat there, watching Ghirahim from under his bangs or over his cup. He didn't miss the glances Ghirahim would give the Master Sword when he thought the other wasn't looking. He also didn't miss the small cut on his finger, and how the demon would occasionally bring it up to his lips to suck at the blood.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim was caught by the Master Sword again, this time in the morning two days later. The Hero came in at the time he usually did, bearing food for both of them, and stopped short when he saw Ghirahim was not in his mini-camp. For a split second, he thought the demon had left—and in that split second he did feel a bit of panic, and maybe a bit of relief—but when his eyes snapped up to the Master Sword, he saw the demon curled by the sword, his hand lightly gripping the base of the blade.<p>

The Hero went up and silently pried his hand off, and wrapped the palm and fingers that were sliced by the sharp edge with spare bandages in his pouch. He left the breakfast by Ghirahim and went to sit in his usual spot, keeping a wary eye on the demon and entertaining himself by repairing his shield, just like Gondo had taught him to.

When the demon woke, the Hero kept his eyes downcast.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim ripped the bandages off when the Hero left.<p>

* * *

><p>That night, Ghirahim was drawn to the blade again. This time, his morbid fascination with the thing exceeded a curious touch and some wandering musings. No, this time, his intent was clear, his mind decided.<p>

He sat by the blade, watching the moonlight play gentle patterns across the hilt and the arc of the blade itself. He touched the edge, and pressed his thumb against it, hard enough to draw blood. He didn't even wince at the pain.

The demon then focused his attention to his pale, veiny wrists. His gloves had long been discarded, along with his jumpsuit—being replaced with repulsive Skyloftian clothes, a hideous puffy undershirt and black breeches that only stretched to the middle of his calf—and the grey skin of his wrist seemed strangely naked without the white cloth to cover it.

Contemplatively, Ghirahim rubbed his thumb over the inside of his wrist, at the juncture between the heel of his hand and his forearm. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, feeling the skin and the hot blood sluggishly flowing through his tired, ageless body. What use was it anymore? Why let his blood flow when there was nothing left for him? There was no one, nothing. And there never would be.

Ghirahim opened his eyes and reached out, holding the hilt in a firm grip, as if the blade would jerk away from him when he raised his wrist to the edge and pressed, sliding it slowly up until the base of his thumb pressed against the cross guard of the Master Sword. His abdomen momentarily tightened at the sensation, but the cool blade comforting, and he soon relaxed when he pulled his wrist away and watched his blood spill.

Again he raised his wrist and again he cut his own flesh, closing his eyes as he felt his blood spill over the tender flesh of his wrist and down his forearm, dripping onto the stone and staining his hideous shirt. His head drooped forward and his temple rested against the winged pommel, his hand still gripping the hilt…though his grip was slipping as his meager strength drained out of him with his blackened blood.

His last thoughts were not memorable. They were calm, accepting. He raised his wrist for one final cut.

Ghirahim opened his eyes at the sound of the temple door sliding open. His chest momentarily clenched as he heard the sound of footsteps and how they stopped rather suddenly. He couldn't get his mouth to work as the steps resumed, louder and more rushed as whoever controlled them ran up to his prone form. With a sick sense of conviction, Ghirahim pressed his wrist against the blade again to make sure he would finish the job.

"Ghirahim, stop!"

In a single moment, Ghirahim's entire body froze and every muscle from his toes to his fingers clenched tight. His fingers formed claws and the tendons in his neck stood out as his eyes bulged. He couldn't move, not a single inch, and it was even hard to _breathe_.

Then the Hero was next to him, pulling his hand away from the blade and pressing his hand against the two cuts, stanching the blood as best he could. Ghirahim's breathe was harsh and ragged through his open mouth, and his arm that was still clinging to the hilt was shaking.

The Hero looked up at him, his blue eyes wide, lips parted, hands still pressed to his wrist, and he reached up to put his hand over the one that was clinging to his former sword. "Let go," he murmured, softly. It wasn't even a command, more of an uncertain request, but Ghirahim's fingers instantly released the hilt and sagged in the Hero's grip, almost no longer his to control. Ghirahim's entire body began to shake then. He felt cold.

The Hero set his uninjured hand in the demon's lap, focusing his attention to the cuts. He didn't speak, not a single word, as he ripped his own tunic to wrap around his aching wrist to stanch the heavy bleeding. Ghirahim didn't fight, he didn't resist or raise his voice; he sat there with wide eyes, shaking, with his insides feeling cold.

When the Hero look up from his wrist and into Ghirahim's eyes, he looked scared, with his pupils wide in the darkness of the temple and his lips parted and whitened from fear. His hands, though, were steady and warm against the flesh of his arm, and he seemed suddenly too close for comfort.

"Ghirahim," the Hero said, gently. "Tell me: why?"

The demon lowered his eyes, and the Hero recognized the look in them that he was looking straight through his body, at nothing if not into his own tormented mind. Ghirahim seemed to try and resist responding, but he instead said, "I'm alone."

The Hero sighed, softly. He ripped his tunic again and took off the makeshift bandage on his wrist, replacing it with the new strips. "Come on, let's go back to your bedroll," the Hero coaxed. He expected resistance, anger, stubbornness, anything but the instantaneous seizing of the demon's body—that looked incredibly painful—before he relaxed and slowly stood, allowing the Hero to lead him back to his blankets.

The Hero gently tugged on his uninjured arm when he led the other over his messy blankets, surprised again at the level of docility from the usually stubborn demon. Ghirahim sat, without a word, over his blankets and allowed the Hero to arrange them over his shoulders. He even drank the red, bitter potion when the Hero raised it to his lips. Without complaint, argument or insults.

"Why are you like this, Ghirahim? Why are you suddenly…so…empty?"

Ghirahim slowly, ever so slowly, raised his eyes from his blanketed knee and up to the Hero. He worked his jaw for a moment before he said, pitifully, "I'm empty because I have nothing. I'm empty because I am…useless. _Master."_


	28. Chapter 4 rewritten

**Title: **Bloodstained

**Author: **Spirit the Fire Dragon/Scribbled Sol

Some suicide references

* * *

><p>Ghirahim had only the slightest satisfaction at the utter look of shock on the Hero's—his <em>master's—<em>face. In any other situation he would have been delighted at the wide eyed, slack jawed look.

"Master? What? No, Ghirahim, I'm not your—what? No, Demise is dead and—" The Hero was cut off when the demon slowly, ever so slowly, raised his eyes to meet his, staring with bent brows and firm lips, his eyes hard and cold. The Hero closed his mouth with an audible click.

"You're…you're serious? Right. Okay. Um…but, I never used your blade or anything. Did you pick me or something? I did kill Demise—is that why? I killed your last master?"

Ghirahim shrugged, slowly. He didn't speak.

Link ran his hands roughly through his hair, keeping half an eye on Ghirahim's bandages and on the demon himself. "I don't understand."

"I'm sorry, Master," the demon muttered, eyes downcast.

"No, no—I, uh, don't call me that. I mean, if you don't want to."

"But that's what you are. You're my _Master,_ Hero."

The Hero sighed and rubbed his face, rocking back onto his heels. "Why? How did I become your Master, Ghirahim? It doesn't make sense."

The demon kept his eyes to the right of the Hero's feet, staring through the ground and into nothing as he spoke in a resigned voice. "I don't know the exact cause, but my best guess would be that in my vulnerable state after the death of my former Master and the destruction of my Linkage, also including the upset of my state of mind leading to my suicide attempt, bits of rogue magic that remain out of my control attached to you. You were my most frequent visitor and already had remnants of Sword Spirit magic lingering on you, and my magic to accepted you as my Master because of this. It was not a conscious decision." The tingle up his arm, Ghirahim remembered then; the precise moment, when they had touched, that the Hero had become his Master.

The Hero sat blinked, digesting this news with surprising ease. He blew out a sigh and said, "What does that mean, then? I mean, for us. For _you._"

"You mean what will happen to your plans of allowing me to leave and, as you put it, live my life peacefully without harming anyone?"

The Hero blinked but the flush on his cheeks told all.

"It means, _Master,_ that I am your slave. Your orders will be followed to the letter…_despite,"_ the word was almost growled, "the past animosity between us. Your wish is my command. If you wish for me to leave, I will leave you and never return."

The Hero stared at him, before slowly shaking his head. "No. You…no, that would be cruel. Look, Ghirahim, what if I want you to do whatever…whatever makes you happy?"

Ghirahim tried to hold his tongue, but his compulsion to please and answer his master overruled his stubbornness. "There is nothing that makes me happy."

The Hero blinked. "Nothing?"

"Not anymore."

"What about…when we fought? You seemed happy then. Over the moon—or, shall I say, over the rainbow?"

Ghirahim didn't even crack a smile. "I was excited that my plans were coming to fruition. I was eager to try my hand against the Chosen Hero, to spar with the one foretold to defeat my former Master. Now that my magic is gone and my old Master dead, I have nothing to strive for. No plans to make, no enemies to overcome, no spells to create. There is nothing."

The Hero looked down and eventually asked, "Did your magic leave with Demise?"

"No. This," he put a hand over his bare chest, over the center of the scar that marred his grey skin, "is the remnants of my Linkage. It was—"

"You mean the crystal? The one in your chest?"

Ghirahim glared, but not a second after the hostile look formed he looked away and smoothed his features, obviously trying to not irritate his Master. "Yes. That was the manifestation of my magic, the link between my body and magic. Since it's destroyed, I cannot reach my magic. I am nothing without it, a useless trinket. Without it, I cannot transform into my blade, or my true form. I am…stuck like this. Forever."

The Hero nibbled on his bottom lip, but the demon didn't see, as he was still staring through the ground with his empty eyes. "Can we…I don't know, restore your…Linkage? Recreate it?"

"A linkage is a personal artifact that bonds to a compatible sorcerer. It could be anything. For Fi and I, it was a crystal; a certain crystal given to us by the Goddess and blessed by her once we were worthy of magic. It cannot be restored or recreated, except by the Goddess herself. Without a similar crystal I will be without magic forever."

"Wait, what? The _Goddess_ gave you a crystal that let you use magic? Why would she give you one—no offense or anything, but weren't you Demise's sword?"

Ghirahim's eyes looked like they were looking far away, into the distant past. "Not always."

Even when the Hero prodded, Ghirahim would not say more.

Eventually, the Hero decided on another line of inquiry. "Well, Zel's here still, helping build a few houses with the others. Maybe she could…I dunno, find another crystal and bless it for you."

Ghirahim looked up at him, and his eyes held no hope. "Your words are kind and your intentions good, _Master, _but giving false hope is the cruelest kind of torture."

* * *

><p>Link didn't understand why Ghirahim had been so pessimistic until after he pulled Zelda aside, under the arch that led to the Goddess statue in the temple's courtyard. He explained the situation as quickly and quietly as he could, noticing how Zelda's face went from curious to saddened to resigned.<p>

"I'm sorry, Link," she said after he had finished. "Ghirahim misused his magic and though he's technically your slave now—don't look at me like that, please, it's what he is—he cannot be allowed to run rampant with magic as…tainted by darkness as he is."

"'Tainted by darkness?' What are you saying, Zelda?"

"I don't trust him," she sighed, looking away at the admission. "The magic he was controlling was dark and demonic in origin, anyways. It wasn't good for him or anyone around him. Using the kind of magic he was…it, well, corrupted him. He's better off without it."

"But…! Zelda, if you give him the linkage back, he could use, I dunno, good magic!"

"There's no such thing," Zelda said, softly. "Magic is a weapon, Link, that is neither good nor bad. It's a weapon…like…like a sword! A sword isn't good or bad or dark or light, it's neutral, right? And you use a sword for good, to save your friends and your home. And Demise used a sword in an effort to take over the Surface and dominate every living thing. You didn't wield a good sword, and Demise didn't wield a bad sword, but you both wielded neutral swords and their legacies will be remembered as good and bad according to the person that wielded it. Do you see? Magic is a sword, neutral until a sorcerer takes it and uses it for either nefarious or respectable purposes."

"I understand…I think…but you said Ghirahim was using dark magic."

"The magic Ghirahim was drawing from was, originally, neutral magic, but was tainted by the demon realm, where Demise used to rule. Magic that…goes there is darkened by the demons there. The demon realm isn't the same as the Surface, Link—it's…it's a bad place. It's corrupted some of the mightiest warriors and the truest of hearts. Magic doesn't stand a chance to remain neutral there."

Link sighed. He looked morosely at his childhood friend. "Can't we do something for him? I feel…I dunno, responsible for him now."

"And you didn't before? Link, if anyone else had been in your shoes, had gone through what you had, and had that same decision, Ghirahim would be dead."

Link shrugged and averted his eyes, but his plea still stood.

Zelda sighed. "I think if…he were to cleanse himself of the dark magic in him, and prove himself worthy of magic again, I would bless a crystal for him and restore his linkage."

Link couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Zel. Thank you so much."

Zelda stopped him by a hand on his arm before he could retreat back into the temple to tell Ghirahim the good news. "Link, may I ask why you're so determined to help him? You're the only one, I think, that would go to such lengths to help him…the enemy. Why?"

Link turned and smiled a bit, but his eyes were so serious, so haunted by what he had seen and stained by the blood he had spilt. "I help people," he said. "It's what I do best. And I don't think anyone on Skyloft or on the Surface needs more help than he does right now. Who am I to throw him out and away?"

"You're his Master."

"All the more reason to help."

* * *

><p>Inside of the temple, a shadowed figure with green bandages on his wrists moved silently away from slightly open stone doors and retreated back into the darkness. Back into safety.<p> 


	29. Chapter 5 rewritten

**Title: **Bloodstained

**Author:** Spirit the Fire Dragon/Scribbled Sol

General Ghirahim sassiness, mentions to the past suicide attempts

* * *

><p>When the Hero returned, Ghirahim hunched his head down with his back already to him, unwilling to hear whatever he had to say, whether it good or bad. He closed his eyes as he approached, and kept them shut as the Hero spoke. "Ghirahim, good news. I just had a whole talking-to about dark magic and whatnot, and Zelda said if you were purified and proved yourself worthy, she'd restore your Linkage."<p>

Ghirahim didn't respond.

"Ghirahim?" the Hero took a few steps forward, his hand reaching out. The silence from the usual flamboyant demon concerned him. "Ghirahim, what's wrong? Didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"Well? It's a good thing!...right?"

"If you say so, Master."

"No, no, no, no…Ghirahim, you know you don't have to call me that, right?"

"That's what you are. Why call you something that you're not? You insist on my name when I am nothing; I am yours to do whatever you please with. I am your slave, and as worthless to you as to anyone on this Surface because of my broken Linkage. You insist I am something worth saving when you know, deep in your great big heart, I am a broken, inconsequential, insignificant _trinket._"

The Hero was silent for a long moment, but what Ghirahim didn't see was the utter look of breathlessness and shock on his face. He was blown away by the sheer amount of self-loathing, and had to take several moments to gather his thoughts and articulate them.

"Look, I don't think you're any of that. I know that everyone doesn't trust you—and I'm starting to think that you don't trust you—because of Demise and your past with him, but I've found that I really do believe in you, and to a certain extent, I do trust you. I know you don't have your magic, and you're really down on yourself—" here, the Hero glanced down at his bandaged wrists, "…but need I remind you that I don't have magic? How can I miss something, or have use of it, if I never had it?"

Ghirahim furrowed his brows and glanced over at the Hero, who had crouched next to him unthreateningly before his little speech. His blue eyes were filled with nothing but truth—no hints of dishonesty, or lies, just hope that he would believe his words. What Ghirahim found strange—and no, strange was not the same as comforting!—was that the Hero hadn't attempted to smooth over anything. He didn't say he trusted him completely, or that reference to his wrists that others would have skipped right over in fear of a breakdown.

Ghirahim looked down at his hands and said, sourly, "If you wish to…_purify _me, then very well. I will no longer be a distraction or delay to you or your quests."

The Hero furrowed his brow. "I'm not forcing you to do this," he said, quietly. "I only thought you'd like your magic back. You know, to help with…" he gestured helplessly to his bandages, "…things."

"My magic will not replace my niche in this new world you and your friends are creating. I have no place in it. Nor will I ever."

"Well, that's the thing," the Hero said, somewhat carefully. "Since we're the ones, you know, _creating_ the world, I'm pretty sure we can make a spot for you somewhere."

Ghirahim glanced over at him, and noticed the hopeful upturn of his eyebrows and the quirk of optimism on the corners of his lips. The Hero thought, briefly, that he had gotten through to the demon, finally said something right, but instead of a returned smirk-smile, he got averted eyes and a meager shrug.

"If you say so, Master."

* * *

><p>Ghirahim, despite being weakened by both blood loss and lack of magic, was still a demonic sword spirit—ergo, not mortal. As his body was not restrained by mortal faults, his body mended with startling speed. Not a day and a sunrise later had the slashes on his wrists puckered to pink scars. His body was still weakened severely, and it took several more nights of increasing physical activity for him to gain the strength to even stand steadily under his own power.<p>

The Hero mostly left the demon alone when he was working, checking up on him periodically to tell him to eat, to not work so hard as to hurt himself, and to offer some company. He could generally tell he was unwanted but Ghirahim never spoke a word against it; he seemed to not speak out against anything, good or bad, when it came to the Hero. Trying to gain favor with his new Master.

Ghirahim seemed to completely rearrange himself in the days following his suicide attempt. To the Hero, he reorganized his priorities now that he had a Master to serve, even one he loathed; he set about first to regain his strength to more of use. He deliberately moved himself away from the Master Sword so it would not be in his general line of sight, as to not tempt him. He asked permission (with a smooth, emotionless mask, a clear spoken thanks and a deep bow whatever the answer) before he did anything outside of his normal routine—that included journeying to the nearby spring to wash himself and to even leave the temple's walls. He was careful with his tone and with his gestures, even eventually offering his limited services to the building crews that had descended from the Sky to erect homes on the Surface. Though he was denied (somewhat vehemently) the offer had made the Hero smile, secretly.

Many days after, the Hero approached Ghirahim with his practice sword and shield slung on his back and his travelling pouch filled with the necessities. Ghirahim seemed to be meditating by the Tree of Life, but kindly opened his eyes and lowered his hands to his lap as his Master slowed.

"Yes, Master?"

"Seriously, Ghirahim, you can call me Link."

An old argument that the Hero knew he would not be winning any time soon.

"What can I do for you?"

"If you're willing," the Hero continued, "we can set out to the Skyview Spring to purify you."

Ghirahim blinked, seemed to reign himself in, and asked, "Why the Skyview Spring, Master?"

The Hero sighed. "I spoke with Zelda last night. She said we needed to purify _you_, your body and your mind before she would consider blessing another crystal for you to restore your Linkage. The only place she could think of were the sacred Springs. That is, if this is what you want."

"What I want means nothing," Ghirahim spoke, holding the Hero's eyes with a calm certainty that almost sickened the other. "I am nothing but simple property for you to use as you please. Should you wish to purify me, as you say, then I will do so. If not, then I will not. If I may, you must not think of me as the regrettable nemesis you fought before Demise's defeat with a plan and power. I am a broken sword spirit under your complete and utter control with no emotional attachment."

The Hero frowned briefly, then shook his head with a stormy look of _that's bullshit. _"I won't believe that, Ghirahim. Goddess, you're the epitome of emotion and passion! I'd be damned if I, of all people, didn't know that. You've put on this ridiculous façade of a slave and I'm not buying it, not for a second! You're not _broken_, Ghirahim, you're not useless or wrong or pathetic—you're just alone and left in the hands of someone you hate and you're confused because they're treating you with kindness. I don't think of you as my slave, I think of you as _Ghirahim, _the ridiculously dressed demon that was passionate about what he did and how he did it! And frankly, out of everyone in this room, you're the one that hates yourself the most! Stop this ridiculous 'yes master' crap and get angry! Get emotional! Let me know what you're thinking! 'Cause I care what you think, despite what you think of me!"

Ghirahim stared up at the boy in green, with his face red from emotion, into his blazing blue eyes. He took a breath through his nose and he stood up, unwinding his mile long limbs and straightening his feline spine until he stood at full height, dressed in Skyloftian clothes that hung strangely on his alien body. Ghirahim let out the breath he took between his fanged teeth, and asked, calmly, "I have leave to speak freely?"

"Yes!" _Please just say what I want you to say,_ the Hero internally cried.

Ghirahim nodded, looked through the Hero for a moment as he thought, then raised his eyes again before he spoke. "I despise you, Master. I despise everything you stand for and everything you are. I loathe every fiber in your body and every thought in your head. I loathe that you defeated and killed everything I held dear simply by allowing me to resurrect my hated Master and force him to remind me how I loathed him more than I you. I hate that I have fallen into your hands and you treat me as if I am a friend, one that cares how you feel or think. I care not if you should live or die, nor shall I ever. And that is what I am thinking. I am thinking that I despise you for wanting to help me, or restore me to any sort of power or position that I held before you were conceived. I loathe your olive branch bearing hand and your golden heart. I would gladly skin you and wear your pelt if it should mean I would be free of your damned thoughtfulness and caring nature. That is what I think, Master."

Ghirahim held his Master's gaze for a moment longer before he turned on his heal and went to sit amongst his bedroll to continue his meditation.

* * *

><p><strong>Apologies for the lateness and length! I lost the inspiration but recently began playing SS again and now it's come rolling back. It'll take me a bit to get my groove back, but I will, and soon we'll be cruising again along the rewritten Bloodstained era.<strong>

**I would like to thank you for your reviews, but as I've completely lost track of them, I won't be replying to them. But thank you for the comments you left, I do appreciate them!**

**-S**


	30. Chapter 6 Rewritten

**Title:** Bloodstained rewritten

**Author:** Spirit the Fire Dragon

**Notes/Warnings: **Let's get this rolling again, shall we?/ Mentions of past suicide attempts

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><p>Link found himself, once more, pacing aimlessly outside of the sealed temple. He found himself doing so much, as of late. Ghirahim tried his patience beyond any creature or mission he had encountered in his life, and here he was stuck to the demon in one of the most intimate of ways; that of Master and Servant. Link sighed and kicked at a loose stone, listening to it crackle and skid away. What did he need to do? Ghirahim had told him <em>exactly<em> how he felt about Link, and with that sort of loathing and hatred settled on his shoulders, how was he meant to actually help the demon?

How was he supposed to offer support when all he did was shunned and shrugged away with a careless, emotionless _of course, Master._? Link scrubbed his hands through his hair and took another deep breath. The words Ghirahim had used didn't so much as hurt his pride as hurt his plan, now that he had to try and motivate the demon in another sense, once he wasn't quite sure how to enact.

As usual, Zelda found him pacing once more. She smiled and slowed his movement with her approach.

"What's bothering you, Link? You seem awfully stressed."

"It's Ghirahim," Link admitted. Big surprise there. "I need to get him moving, give him a goal, or something. Just to get him moving and maybe motivated. I just don't know how to hammer it into his thick skull."

Zelda looked contemplative, biting at her lip thoughtfully until she smiled and nodded, saying, "Link, we both know how you can do that."

Link glanced up, then paled. "No, I don't…"

"Link." Zelda's tone was somewhat sharp, and the other fell silent. "It's your only shot."

"I don't want to force him into doing something he doesn't want to do," Link admitted helplessly.

"You've got no choice," Zelda said, firmly. "Ghirahim won't, under any circumstance, share his opinions on what he wants to do. You've got to make the decision for him. He'll follow and, once he gets momentum, he'll start to open up…if you're there for him."

Link looked helpless before his childhood friend. He sighed and rubbed at his neck. "I don't know if I can be…assertive like that."

"Just be bossy," Zelda advised. "Don't take no for an answer. Ghirahim will fall into place. You'll offer him guidance, a goal, and a standard he'll make himself meet. It will give him something to strive for. Believe me, it might feel wrong to you, but it will help him more than you know."

Link sighed, heavily. "I…alright."

* * *

><p>Meditation is a calming and beneficial practice to undertake in times of healing, Ghirahim found. Though he had rarely found time or meaning for it before Demise's fall, now when he was left directionless by a clueless Master and usually left to his own devices for days on end, he found meditation both made time go faster, calm his racing and furious mind, and helped regain his strength. The severed connection to his magic, however, remained raw and painful in his mind, an open wound in his consciousness that burned at every moment of the day. He felt its presence keenly, for he had never in his life been left without magic for extensive amounts of time, and even when he had been unable to conjure a scrap of his beloved magic he had felt its aura in his mind, bubbling and shifting.<p>

Now he was left without it. Meditation helped him cope with this loss, and with the anger he felt towards his Master. The child was useless and hopeless to lead him, to direct him towards any sort of goal that he needed to healthily thrive. Demise had at least understood this basic need, and had steadily directed him towards usually impossible goals to keep him both busy and content. The Hero, however, told him to _just do what he wants_ and Ghirahim did not know how to cope with such an order. His own wants had never been taken into consideration—something he was used to, indeed. The situation was similar to that of a caged bird, familiar to supplied food and clipped wings, suddenly being thrown into the air by a new owner and being told to _fly wherever it pleased._

Ghirahim lightly shook his head, almost imperceptibly, to clear his head of the wandering comparison. He sat beneath the Tree of Life, legs intricately crossed and fingers intertwined, resting on his center line (the imaginary line that ran from his forehead down, directly in his center) with his pointer fingers touching and extended up, as if in some strange, altered prayer. The position offered some comfort for long meditations. But it did not offer comfort for the building urge in his chest, settled between his breasts, which howled for blood.

He had felt this bloodlust settle cleanly in his chest some days before, as he had not spilled blood since his own several weeks previous; the tasteless surroundings untouched by crimson was wearing his resolve thin. Where before he had felt nothing, now he felt only anger, and the near unbearable temptation to spill blood onto the stone and across his white flesh. The urge was becoming dangerous, overpowering within him, and it was tainting his worthlessness in such a sense that though he knew he was useless, all he could think of was the blood.

Oh, did he crave it! All his senses and thoughts called for it, begging him, beckoning him to journey the simple hundred yards out of the temple in the midst of night to slaughter a wandering mammal and eat its flesh to taste the lifeblood; it took every ounce of resolve to stem this temptation, and only just. If only his _beloved_ Master had ordered him to stay put, to not kill or drain a creature of blood, then he would not have to operate in such an alone and undue state. Should he have simply been ordered to remain steadfast in his venture to not kill, then he would not be feeling this bloodlust as keenly! When it was a battle of urge against order, it was no contest; when it was of urge against will…Ghirahim knew his will could not win for long. With a small sigh, he tried to turn his thoughts away from blood.

He was beginning to attempt to ponder the existence of heavenly bodies when the silence of the Sealed Temple—one he had grown accustomed to rather quickly, and even taken to, as he enjoyed the silence more than anything the temple had to offer—was shattered by the groan of the eastern door opening and slamming shut. Ghirahim began to pull himself from his trance as to not be shocked awake, an occurrence that could severely impair his mind and disorient his body, as he recognized the footsteps as those of his Master's.

The steps continued to skirt the pulpit and stopped directly in front of him. Ghirahim peeled open his eyes, blinking to adjust to the soft light that seemed incomparably bright to the darkness that was his mind and thoughts. He lowered his hands and gazed up at his Master, who stood once more in full travel and battle garb, this time looking less eager and more steeled.

"Yes, Master?" Ghirahim asked, patiently. Was he to be 'punished', as by the standards of the Chosen Hero, for speaking out of turn as he had several days previous? Though he had the leave to speak freely, he understood his Master could still be angry at his words and punish him for voicing his true opinions. Perhaps because he outlined his complete and utter loathing for the directionless child who had done the work of ten thousand warriors.

"Get up," his Master demanded. His voice was momentarily uncertain, but his eyes didn't waver, even if his Adam's apple did bob with his nervous swallow. Ghirahim raised his brow curiously, his lips remaining studiously uncurled as he slowly unwound his body and stood, as directed. His body tingled from the direct order, and he was momentarily disoriented from the dizzying pleasure brought on from obeying his Master. He blinked the euphoric sensation away as his Master continued.

"I've given you time to stew and think," his Master, continued, his voice much stronger than before. He seemed to be gathering his courage and momentum as he continued to speak. "And you haven't come to me with a decision."

His Master paused for breath, and Ghirahim interjected, "Decision concerning what, exactly, Master?"

The other looked put off for a moment before his eyes steeled again. "Concerning your purification. Since you haven't come to me, I've made the decision for you: we're setting out in an hour's time to Skyview. Understand?"

Ghirahim was momentarily taken aback. The order was direct and unquestionable, and it made his heart quicken. What was this boy trying to do? Imitate Demise, or a more iron-fisted Master, of which he was not?

"But—"

"Am. I. Understood?"

Again, Ghirahim was struck. He took several moments to regain his composure before he dipped his head like a good servant. "Yes, Master. It is understood."

The Hero nodded resolutely, seemed to regret his demanding tone momentarily, internally reprimand himself for questioning his decision, then turned on his heel to exit the way he came. Ghirahim sank onto his knees and began to meditate once more, but his mind was filled with the tang of pleasure of obeying and the bitter questioning of an unsure servant.

* * *

><p>As he had said, the Hero returned to the temple in an hour's time to find Ghirahim standing and prepared for travel—and as prepared, he had merely wrapped his feet in strips of cloth as he refused to wear traditional boots or shoes. He waited with guarded eyes as Link gestured him over, and stopped before his Master.<p>

"We're going to hike to Skyview and journey to the spring," his Master instructed, curtly. "You will purify your body in the spring, and we will return here for rest and set out of Eldin whenever you recover. While we are out of this temple, you will not harm any living creature unless I say otherwise. Understood?"

Ghirahim resisted the urge to curl his lip. Instead, he schooled his features and dipped his head. "Of course, Master."

His Master nodded and opened the temple door, gesturing for him to exit first. Ghirahim stepped out into the blinding sun and followed his Master's order. His mind automatically began to categorize the orders given to him: that he will be purified, and he is not to hurt any living creature (by living creature, Ghirahim assumed was an insect or animal, not plant life, as he could not step on the grass without harming it). With this order at the forefront, Ghirahim took painstaking care to watch where he laid his feet, as to not step on an unsuspecting insect, and was aware of every inch of his surroundings in case of an approaching creature he was not, unless pardoned, not to harm.

The journey was slow, thanks to his hunt and peck sort of walk that his Master seemed confounded by but after some time, he understood the motives behind the strange gait but was unwilling to retract his order so quickly. And though the bloodlust rose like a rabid dog in his chest, the order given to him repressed it with every fiber of his being. He internally was grateful for the incredible stern order.

Skyview temple was traversed in much the same manner, with Ghirahim lightly treading around any wandering insect and ducking away from any swooping bats to allow his Master to dispatch instead of he; the water was left untouched as they cut through the tunnels and through gates his Master had opened through his first journey. His Master did not speak to him as they walked, not until they climbed the tunnel to the spring and stood under the warm, inviting sun.

"Do you know what to do, Ghirahim?"

"To purify myself, Master? I do believe so, yes."

"Then go ahead. No tricks." The words seemed to burn his Master's tongue, and he looked slightly disgusted with himself for saying them. Ghirahim nodded, and took his steps slowly.

* * *

><p><strong>Updated once more. Apologies for mistakes or misspellings. Felt the urge to write tonight, so here I am. Hope you all enjoy. Thanks for the lone reviewer—I hope you enjoy the rewrites. Any and all reviews are appreciated. Take my love until next time,<strong>

**-S**


	31. Chapter 7 rewritten

**Title:** Bloodstained rewritten

**Author: **Spirit the Fire Dragon

**Warnings/notes: **Possible mentions to past suicide attempt. Sorry for the wait! Thank you for all of your kind reviews! I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim was <em>screaming.<em>

It was neither a battle cry, nor a flimsy scream of only moderate pain; no, this was a scream that boiled in the very bottom of his lungs and rose to tear his throat and rattle his teeth. It was a scream like that none he had ever heard or expressed, one of intense and unbridled agony that burned and rent and tore and gashed. He couldn't think, he couldn't move…he couldn't even bear to _breathe,_ lest he chance indescribable agony.

He had no idea that this purification would be so incredibly painful. He had expected some sort of sensation, but not this sort of agony; he hadn't felt such discomfort since his trials of servitude to his former Master. He was suspended in an orb of the sacred water that rushed about him as if it had a mind of its own, rubbing his flesh raw and tearing into his consciousness and ripping apart his memories with bloody teeth.

Then there was silence. It was the sort of silence that echoed after an excruciating release of sound, which rang high and constant in the ear and muffled all other noises. Ghirahim, with his eyes clenched and his teeth bore in a grimace of lingering agony, rolled from his position on his side to his knees and elbows, between which he hung his head and cupped his ringing ears. He groaned but could not hear the sound, and pressed his forehead to the surface on which he was lying but could not quite feel.

Ghirahim curled slightly into himself, his whole body shivering and his muscles hanging loosely on his bruised bones. He tensed his core and the muscles in his thighs, raising his battered body forward to lean less on his crumpled legs and more on his trembling arms. He used the strength of his shoulders and fingers to raise his body upwards and put his palms flat instead of clenched, and with a headache pounding behind his eyes, Ghirahim raised them as his head straightened with his spine.

He could not quite comprehend where he was. He could see nothing in any direction that he turned his eyes, and upon looking down, found he could not see anything in that direction, either. He only knew that the plane he knelt on existed only because he was not falling, but his senses could not discern that anything was, in fact, beneath his palms or his aching knees.

After reviewing this knowledge, Ghirahim straightened his spine more firmly and put his left palm on his quivering thigh. The waves of pain that had been wracking his body were fading, but for the life of him, he couldn't quite remember what had caused him such discomfort. He vaguely recalled a strange looking creature with blue eyes and green cloth and a rather serene spring, but could not recollect any finer details. Nonplussed by the holes in his memory—that he was sure would come back to him in time—Ghirahim put his palms flat to the surface and rose to his feet, shakily, and carefully pulled himself up.

Standing now, he could not discern any other details he may have overlooked before. There was simply nothing around him but a strange color that he could not quite describe. As he gazed at and through this color, he found that it pervaded every inch of this space he found himself in, and it filled him with a sort of warmth that Ghirahim could only describe as infinitely pleasing.

"Hello?" he said. His voice rang and echoed but after a moment the silence was dominant in his ears once more and as such could not be certain that he had even spoken at all.

Then the color and the silence around him seemed to expand and grow, in the likeness of a content breath. Suddenly, his mind was filled with an indescribable sensation that widened his eyes and weakened his knees; he was left reeling from the sudden influx of sensations that seemed to touch his very soul and left him yearning and amazed. His spirit, shriveled with power and shut away by hate, expanded beneath his skin and grew with the color, spreading about him in a pattern of beautiful lines. They were similar to the contours of a flowering plant that blossomed from within him and escaped from his being through his eyes and his chest and the tips of his fingers, drawing themselves into existence in every color he could have ever imagined and into shapes that grew about and around him, into every corner of this nothingness that he had so inexplicably found himself.

Ghirahim, up until that point, had been unaware that he was capable of making something so beautiful.

He exploded in a supernova of sound and sensation and color, and the everything of the nothing around him dissolved away, and he was sad to watch it go.

* * *

><p>A second or a millennium could have passed between the time Ghirahim had felt the touch of nirvana and the moment he was on lying flat on a warm stone, arm dangling and his eyes locked with the ones in the reflective surface of the rippling water before him. He was unsure of how he had gotten there, but did what first came to mind: he pulled his arm from the water, watching with detached fascination as the movement caused the reflection of himself ripple and shiver. His eyes traced the puckered scars on his wrist, but he did not feel shame or regret at the sight; he had been forgiven, and it had to have happened to have brought him here.<p>

Placing his arm beneath his chest, fingers closed over the edge of rock he laid on, he was coming to a sort of awareness of himself once more. In the nothing, it had come quickly, for there had been nothing around him to categorize but the sensations he had been feeling within himself. Now he was faced with a reflection and warm stone and pleasantly cool water and rays of light dancing all around him, bouncing merrily from the water and the visible bottom of where the water lay, and all of these _sensations_ had him reeling for an uncountable handful of seconds.

Ghirahim, whilst trying to reorient himself, stared into the eyes he had been looking in on return to his physical body; they were his own, but there was a certain unfamiliar looseness in the corners. There was darkness smudged underneath where none had been before. Upon noticing these slight changes, Ghirahim briefly considered the notion that he had somehow jumped dimensions and now resided in a body that was his but not his own, but dismissed it after a moment. He leaned closer to the water, the tip of his nose almost touching it's shivering surface, and found some infinitesimal differences along with the ones concerning his eyes; the color of his skin was paler while the flesh of his lips was colored more darkly, a strange shade of red and pink that he could only relate to that of his Master's and his companions. He became aware of a strange substance in his mouth, and collected as much as he could on the flat of his tongue and spat it into the water reflexively. Ghirahim watched as his blood cascaded in pretty, wispy lines through the water, diluting to a pale pink after a few moments.

After this, Ghirahim began the same process he had undergone in the nothingness, tensing and coiling his aching muscles to pull himself into a standing position. It took him more time here, but he was victorious nonetheless. He caught himself looking about the sacred spring, and felt a keen sense of disappointment in his chest when he could not find the color that had shown him the euphoria in the nothingness. Perhaps it was a color that could not be seen in the physical world.

Turning, Ghirahim located his Master; he was standing on the main platform, watching him with a curious tilt of the head. The memories of how he had gotten here and why came back to him and nestled quietly back into a linear and comprehensive pattern in his mind. He collected the strength in his worn body and made the long steps back towards his Master and away from the place that had brought him to a spiritual rebirth.

"Well?" his Master asked as he approached. "Did it work?"

Ghirahim blinked. He was unsure. Though he had spat blood, he was sure whatever had happened to his spirit and his body was all part of a plan that would ultimately lead to a change that, on the most basic levels, could be described as 'good'. Though the more complex intricacies that usually came with higher thinking and a greater picture, Ghirahim could not say, for sure, that it would not lead to something that was best for the greater good.

"Yes," he said, instead. His Master had not asked for an in-depth analysis of the experience, nor had he asked if he had been hurt in the process. So Ghirahim did not enlighten him.

His Master nodded, but there was a smile on his lips. Ghirahim confirmed that his lips were, indeed, the same shade that his own were now colored. "You look…better. Healthier, I mean. I think we're on the right track, Ghirahim."

Ghirahim dipped his head, acknowledging his Master's view of the situation. He did not speak, as he knew that his Master found great pleasure in this quest, and deemed it entirely necessary. Though he did not personally agree, he was inclined to ease his Master's mind on the matters, despite their previous animosity. It was becoming less of a factor in Ghirahim's mind as time went on. It had taken everything to get him here, but that did not mean his past dictated his actions now that he had found his way to the end of the track he had spent the majority of his life travelling. That, however, does not mean that he no longer loathes where he had found himself at the end of the path he had taken. He was still very much capable of unbridled hate.

"Let's get back to the temple," his Master said, his smile still not quite fading. "Oh, about you not hurting anything—you don't have to worry about stepping on a bug or anything, I just meant that you can't go hunting or go and kill something with malicious intents."

"Thank you," Ghirahim murmured, finding that the phrase did not come as painfully as it once had. He followed demurely in the steps of his Master, his mind awash with the memories of that strangely colored heaven and the sensations of bliss and ecstasy.

* * *

><p>Zelda was taken aback by the sight of Ghirahim's spirit when he and Link returned from the sacred spring.<p>

Gifted with the Goddess' wisdom and knowledge, she was able to see the spirit of any creature she gazed at, and she had not been pleased or surprised at the sight of Ghirahim's. His soul had been curled and darkened and writhing underneath his skin, lighting his eyes aflame with the burning hatred that tainted his mind and anything he touched. She had watched from afar as it had festered and destroyed itself until he had been driven to kill his dying body, and she had felt sad. Ghirahim was not inherently evil, but he had been corrupted to such a degree that even she had thought him a lost cause.

Not all can be saved. Hylia knew this especially, and so Zelda knew. But Link had not been deterred, and now Zelda could understand why.

When Ghirahim came into her field of vision, Zelda was momentarily blinded by the color of his spirit. Though it was still weak and corrupted and dark within him, the color had shifted and his soul had grown, reveling in some sort of delight that had previously been unknown to him. Zelda smiled, watching him go and retreat back within the sealed temple, never letting her eyes leave his healing spirit until he was out of her sight.

Link, with his comforting and dazzling grey spirit, approached her with a similarly dazzling smile. "I think it's working," he said, happily. "I've never seen him look like that. I think he's starting to want to live again…maybe he can finally be happy with himself, you know?"

Zelda looked at him, in his beautiful eyes, and smiled in return. "I think you're right, Link," she agreed. As Link drifted away, she felt the lingering pang of sorrow in her heart she felt each time she looked at Link's spirit. As he had sought after her on his quest and defeated Demise, it had not lost its shine, but had lost its dazzling bright color. His soul now burned like a haunted sun, undeterred but plagued by the horrors he had seen.

Ghirahim was healing, and Zelda knew he could feel it. Link was perpetually wounded, even if he did not know it.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again!<strong>

**I'm so sorry for the wait. I would explain but it would take too much time, so all that matters is that I'm back and ready to take up the saddle. It's most likely I'll do either weekly or twice weekly updates, depending. **

**So thanks for all those who reviewed, favorited, followed, and stuck around through the two month hiatus! Love all of you!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Can'tPickAName for reminding me to get off my lazy ass and finish this rewrite.**

**-S**


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